Sphere of Influence
by Aly Teima
Summary: Finished!! Chp 5 and the epilogue of tying up loose ends and the near future for our characters. Does Kit finally get to be reuinted (and it feels so good) with Rebecca and Baloo? Is Molly mature to handle accompanying her mother to search for Kit?
1. Default Chapter

In Flander's Fields  
  
In Flander's fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.  
  
We are the Dead, Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flander's fields.  
  
Take up your quarrel with the foe; To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high, If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flander's fields.  
  
-John McCrae  
  
Same airport, same island.....same everything. Unless, of course, one counted the passage of time, or how many times the sun had risen and set through the years.  
  
Day upon day, each following the other until the actors were ready and the stage was set to have all of civilization it seemed, come tumbling down with the briefness of a few, catastrophic events.  
  
And indeed, even now, at the crossroads of a great precipice, a great upheaval in the lives of all who had the experienced the incidents that had triggered pain, loss.....and war, there was a familiarity of these things.  
  
For all of this had come before and all would come again, in some other form, in some distant future, and who knew if it would ever be avoided?  
  
Who knew what the loss for everyone would be? This time, next time, every time......the answer belonged to no one, never would.  
  
It could only be found in the peace that followed the storm, and in the healing process that earth and those who lived on it's surface would surely and inevitably go through.  
  
But....memories existed, and weakness, hate, together with mistrust can slowly destroy if one clings to them like a treasure. This is what such things will become.....the one who holds them is the one to give them power, or worth.....or release them to find the path to freedom.  
  
It is the lesson that this city, and all places like it, destroyed and rebuilt through centuries, or this conflict could teach, and that was to let go...and move on.  
  
For the innocent, for the guilty, for those whose war raged inside, for those who fought it all around them. All had the power, all had to live, breath and know the influence each possessed within their own existences. Each had to learn from the past.....for the future.  
  
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Kit had always been intrigued by the capital city of Anglia, even though the damage that had been inflicted on the ancient location was horrendous, especially when the young pilot could remember the beauty of it's architecture and the fascination he had held for it's secrets.  
  
Nearly all had physically been destroyed under the fury of Alemanian firepower. The only glimmer of hope that the city had possessed for quite some time was it's ability to endure, and it's pride along with an utmost refusal to give in to tyranny, brutality and aggression. And that meant severe punishment, to the point that not a single brick would have been left in place as the once beautiful capital was reduced to dust with the power of modern machinery.  
  
Kit understood about hope, certainly. If there was one thing he could understand.....that was it. He had clung to it throughout most of his life, as tightly as he now clung to his khaki uniform and papers, tucked neatly under one arm.  
  
Surprisingly, he needed both not to go into combat.....but to aid the populations of the occupied, liberated, and even enemy nations that were now suffering under the many circumstances that war was liable to give.  
  
Starvation, disease.....people and governments, still so fragile, could and were collapsing as the Alemanian war-machine slowly and painfully retreated.  
  
So, the hope of this city was contagious to the young man who, with all of his gifts, had singled out and brought forward the trait of optimism which had always been there to hold him up when he needed it.  
  
For he was standing here, ready to be shipped off to the continent, to aid in ending something....even better, to aid in beginning something else. And this ancient city was still standing, the raids that had plagued it falling no more.  
  
Hope was a funny thing, in all of it's forms and all that managed to come from it. Kit was grateful, both for the emotion and for the ones who had helped him find it in the first place.~  
  
January 4, 1945  
  
Sunlight streamed in through the open window. Shadows danced on the opposite wall. The scent of the tropical breeze brushed past a young man's cheek. He knew it well, he would always remember it. He would carry it with him. It was mid-afternoon in the city known as Cape Suzette.  
  
Kit Cloudkicker keep his gaze fixated on the blue harbor before him. Flashes of memory intruded into his thoughts. ~Remember where my heart is, and you'll always have a home....~ ~Hey, we're buddies, pals! From now on, we're a team...~ ~This is your home, Kit...~ ~ I love ya, Li'l Britches~  
  
Always, in these memories, someone's warm embrace held him and he was safe, in those two arms. If he wanted to he could stay there, forever. The one's he loved the most deeply, the one's who wished for him to stay with them, would always welcome him here, support him.  
  
But it was not who he was.  
  
He had seen so much, experienced _too_ much in his short life. It was astounding that the strength of his character had kept his ideals in place, even in the world the boy found himself in now.  
  
To see injustices anywhere, to not fight them and to not fight for what he believed in was against everything that made Kit who he was... He couldn't turn away from them.  
  
So, despite being turned down again and again for military service, which he had applied for since he was 18, despite the unspoken, pleading question in his father's eyes, Kit was leaving. He would use his talents elsewhere in Eporue.  
  
Baloo felt torn apart. Thank God the main bulk of the fighting was over, but to let this boy go...this boy who had too quickly grown into a man, was torture.  
  
Baloo was fighting a war himself, deep inside. The agony of seeing Kit hurt or....worse, was something the large pilot could not face...ever.  
  
Not after watching Kit grow, protecting him, guarding the boy with his life if necessary. How could he possibly let him go?  
  
On the same token...if he truly loved the boy, how could he not? It was simply a part of who Kit was, to fight and to give unselfishly. Could Baloo really ever ask him to change? It would kill the pilot to see his former navigator try to be something other than what he was...the boy whom the large bear had let inside of his heart so many years ago.  
  
Kit turned as Baloo placed two large hands on his shoulders. The large gray bear looked at the boy tenderly...he would always be a little boy to Baloo, even if the navigator...no, _pilot_ now, was quite a bit taller than he was. He would always stay the same skinny waif of a bear cub who had suddenly appeared in his life, with all of his remarkable talents and skills, all of his emotions and heart. He was the gray bear's navigator, forever, showing the way to places deep inside of Baloo, places the pilot would have never thought existed.  
  
Yes, now Kit was a pilot. There had never been any doubt in Baloo's mind that the boy would be an ace. He was going overseas to aid in the air-lift that would drop supplies to the needy civilians in the war-ravaged areas.  
  
They had wanted the best....  
  
As Baloo gazed at his son, he knew from experience that those waiting wouldn't be disappointed. Kit excelled at whatever he put his mind to, his flying being no exception.  
  
But the gray bear felt as though he was being torn in half.  
  
Rebecca sat at her desk, attempting to sort papers and keep herself from weeping. She was failing miserably at both.  
  
"I'll write" Kit's voice, no longer that of a little boy but that of a young man, deepened through the years, finally spoke up.  
  
Baloo felt his composure crumbling. "Kit" the young man looked at the pilot. "Er..um, please be careful, don't be taking any unnecessary chances, 'kay?"  
  
Kit nodded  
  
"I-I'll miss ya...Li'l Britches" Baloo's voice broke as he held his former navigator close to him. Kit wrapped his arms around Baloo and hugged him back.  
  
Rebecca was sobbing as she watched the two. She quietly stood up to stand behind them. "I love you Papa Bear..." "I'll be back before you know it, I promise"  
  
Baloo nodded vigorously, tears streaming. He didn't want to let the boy go. Kit looked past Baloo's shoulder to gaze at Rebecca, who attempted to smile at him but managed only to reach out and grasp his hand.  
  
The connection between the three had never been stronger. Kit felt something inside give way.  
  
How could he leave them? This was the only home he'd ever known, could he really leave it behind him?  
  
He picked up his small duffel bag, after finally escaping from Baloo's vice- like embrace.  
  
He headed towards the door, but hesitated when he saw a young girl standing on the stairs. She had both her mom's good looks and wit, but neither was helping her as tears streamed down her face.  
  
Kit walked over and quickly hugged her. "G-bye Pig-tails....take care of things, okay?" Kit tipped the girl's chin to allow her eyes to meet his. The boy's heart melted as her large brown eyes overflowed with tears. He wished he could think of something more that he could tell her that wouldn't sound insincere and out of place.  
  
"O-Okay Kit...don't be gone too long!" she said sternly, her tone at odds with the unsteadiness of her voice.  
  
"I won't" He quickly hugged her again and turned, not trusting himself to look at her face.  
  
Rebecca embraced him, not an easy task as the little boy she had once known was now a full head and shoulders taller than her.  
  
"Bye sweetie. Please...come back to us."  
  
"I'll miss you, Miz Cunningham" Both smiled at Kit's former title for the businesslady.  
  
"Bye" Kit felt unsteady, he felt as though there was a dead weight resting on his chest, causing intolerable pain and impeding his ability to breathe.  
  
He had to force himself to stare straight ahead as he walked out the door. Only Baloo followed, as Rebecca attempted to comfort her sobbing daughter, a difficult task as she gave herself over to tears as well.  
  
Wildcat hopped down off of the Blue Eagle. "She's all ready man..." the lion seemed a bit more somber than usual.  
  
"Bye WC" Kit extended out a hand. Wildcat, in turn, caught the much taller bear in a hug.  
  
"Bye Kit...hey, I-I'll miss ya man"  
  
Kit's surprise registered on his face. "Thanks Wildcat" he said softly as the mechanic turned to walk inside of his shed. He didn't turn around for a second look.  
  
Kit stared long and hard at the wooden building of Higher for Hire...his home.  
  
Him, Kit Cloudkicker. Look how far he'd come. All thanks to the people both inside of that building and standing next to him.  
  
All of them had come very far. The relationships between them had remained stable, deepening and growing. They were close, very different true, but close, bound together.  
  
Kit would feel the ties that bound him to these individuals, to this place. They could stretch, almost to breaking point, especially in that far-off place he was going, but they could never break.  
  
There was no place he could go that could tear him away from these people. Before Kit climbed into his plane, ready to go, he turned to gaze at Baloo one more time.  
  
Pausing, he looked intently at the pilot. Baloo hadn't changed much from the day Kit had first...er, ran into him at Louie's. He hadn't changed much outwardly that is.  
  
Inside, the bear had more depth, more feeling, seemingly, more soul. He now knew what it was to care for someone else more than yourself. He now knew what it was to love someone enough to let them go.  
  
The large bear gently reached up and touched the side of Kit's face with one massive hand. Nothing more had to be said.  
  
The two held each other fiercely, tightly. Nothing could ever break them apart. But, for now, they had to say goodbye.  
  
It was the hardest thing Baloo had ever done, releasing the boy to let him go to a place where the large bear could no longer protect him.  
  
Kit wanted to stay there, with the only father he'd ever known, for as long as he could. But he had responsibilities elsewhere. And he couldn't ignore them.  
  
Kit climbed into his plane and started the engines. Baloo stood very still as Kit's plane slowly gained altitude and vanished through the cliffs.  
  
"Good luck, Li'l Britches..."~  
  
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"Cloudkicker!!" The harsh voice shattered Kit's concentration with one word.  
  
The young man quickly brought his head up. "What?" Kit blinked and quickly looked around, still not used to his unfamiliar surroundings. He felt a hand clap down on his shoulder.  
  
"Hey kid, that was some drop-off, loveliest flying this 'ol ace has ever seen." Kit smiled at the old racoon who grinned back sheepishly, unintentionally bringing the young man out of his daydream. "Thanks Eric....still kinda new at this I guess."  
  
"No troubles lad, it takes some getting used to...nothin' like working under the gun....'course, there are worse things." A faint shadow crossed the racoon's face. Kit frowned at it and began to follow the older officer into the barracks. Something stopped him.....the young bear thought he would have gotten used to the constant sound of distant booming coming from miles away.  
  
Silently Kit stared at the pillars of smoke and occasional bursts of debris and gravel that came into view with each new noise. The pilot found himself fascinated by the distant explosions, even though he had flown over it mere hours before.  
  
Kit knew the real fighting was over, or as good as over.....the explosions he was seeing were just precautions against the mine fields set months before by the Alemanians to combat the oncoming invasion.  
  
The young man instinctively reached up to grab his navigator's cap, worn with few exceptions every day for the past seven years. Again, his distracted mind seemed surprised when he grabbed something else....his uniform's cap bearing the logo, "Usland Airlift Division".  
  
A simple name, if only the tasks that Kit performed under it were as much so.  
  
Looking up at the sky....blue, clear, beautiful, the young pilot could almost feel himself drift away from this place, home as always in the clouds.  
  
It was so beautiful up there. It caused Kit's heart to ache, the strange feelings he had experienced for as long as he could coming to the surface once again to bring him the comfort that few knew.  
  
In this far-off land, with it's ravaged appearance and the scars of years of warfare once again causing upheaval in it's people's lives, Kit felt another sort of pang........homesickness, again.  
  
Nowhere did he feel more at home, yet here in this situation more alone, than in the air, high above solid earth. But every time he took off, every time he reached out to touch the place which had no borders, had no territories, he missed the one who had first given him the opportunity to become all that he was.  
  
Every time he landed, felt his feet touch the ground, he missed the ones who had been there to greet him, to offer him a home.  
  
The young pilot crushed his hat in his hand, feeling soft and weak in this harsh environment. He let his mind wander, as it was opt to do.  
  
~It was late and another of the boy's nightmares had come to haunt him. He had been falling again.....it was too soon after Karnage had dropped him off of the Iron Vulture, with the waters of Cape Suzette harbor rushing up to meet him with terrifying speed......he had kicked and struggled, only to find himself gently being shaken awake by two strong hands.  
  
The large bear held Kit's shoulders until the cub realized where he was, in the Sea Duck....they should reach Higher for Hire in a matter of hours, but it was still very late, so Kit had dozed off. But he was safe here, in this plane, he always felt that way here, no matter what. He was safe once again, thanks to Baloo.  
  
Nothing was said for awhile. Kit almost felt ashamed for again allowing his own demons to rob him of sleep one more time. But Baloo didn't seem to mind. He only took his seat beside his navigator and patted the boy's shoulder until slowly, Kit relaxed once again.  
  
The sun's faintest rays were beginning to peek into the city of Cape Suzette when the yellow sea-plane docked at Higher for Hire. Kit tiredly began following the large pilot inside the building for a day of much needed rest.  
  
The navigator stumbled, unsteady on his feet, the dock just didn't seem to want to hold still. He felt himself being picked up and carried inside, in spite of his exhausted protests.  
  
Baloo pulled the shade in the bedroom and set Kit down softly on the bed. The boy watched the large bear sit down on his own bed with a sigh and lay back.  
  
"Baloo?" came a soft-spoken word from across the darkened room.  
  
"Yeah kiddo?" Baloo turned to stare intently at the cub.  
  
"Um...why did you answer my distress call if you thought I'd double-crossed you?"  
  
Baloo blinked, startled by the strange question. A far-off look came into his eyes.  
  
"Well, Kit-boy....I, well....I guess it was 'cause I wanted to believe so bad that you didn't mean everythin' that you'd been saying to Karnage. A- About using me an' stuff. It....er...you're my navigator, I'm the pilot. An' I'm tellin' ya right now, we're gonna probably go through a lot worse stuff than whatever 'ol Karny and his gang threw at us before. But we're in it together. An' I trust ya.....from now on, that means forever Li'l Britches"  
  
"Yeah...um, thanks Bal-..uh, Papa Bear"  
  
The gray bear smiled at the boy who felt a crushing wave of gratitude. He wanted to remember this for as long as he could.....~  
  
"Kit!" Again, the young bear came back to the present with the sound of the officer's voice. He met Lieutenant Baggett's worried gaze sheepishly.  
  
"What's gotten into you boy?"  
  
"Sorry Eric.....Sir"  
  
"Just Eric like I told you. Come on inside lad, have to plan for tomorrow"  
  
As Kit followed the older racoon into the barracks he caught the strange glances two soldiers gave the young pilot and the lieutenant.  
  
The young bear had to smile in spite of himself. He wasn't sure by what chance or twist of fate he had ended up here in this particular division, but he felt exceedingly grateful.  
  
The Airlift Division was like an effective, well-oiled machine, a team that was already working wonders in the war-torn, isolated areas which were in desperate need of food and supplies.  
  
Maybe it was the casual atmosphere and friendships here that was helping the young pilot in this environment. That, and a great deal of respect for Lieutenant Baggett. Kit couldn't explain his feelings of regard towards the elderly officer, but the racoon had something about him, a different attitude, a different mind-set about this war.  
  
Maybe someday the young pilot could ask him what it was that pushed him forward, that drove him so relentlessly....or, on the same note....held him back.  
  
He didn't understand.  
  
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June 29, 1916  
  
Like a creeping phantom, the memory haunted Eric. The call went out, terrifying in it's urgency.  
  
"Put on your masks! Gas warning, put on your masks!!"  
  
And, like something out of a nightmare, the visible poison crept silently along where no civilized creature could walk and survive for long.  
  
Through the barbed wire, drifting in and out of the shells that two years of constant bombardment had left, creeping over the vast space, endless.....yet actually consisting of only a few feet. No Man's Land.  
  
Eric almost envied it's freedom as it came drifting over to their trenches, leaving only destruction to prove it's power. It came quickly....it always came too quickly.  
  
Three privates at the far end of the trench who had been too busy hooting and calling out insults to the far-off enemy lines had failed to hear the warning.  
  
Eric watched with detached interest as the soldiers began scrambling for their masks, coughing and becoming very ill before even getting the opportunity to put them on.  
  
The Sergeant of Division 12 rushed over, cursing and barking orders, then cursing again as one young private went from gray to the tell-tale blue that said more than any medic.  
  
"Bloody fools! Listen to the warnings when they're issued! Bloody....." on and on he went, damning the poor fools to hell one moment then struggling urgently to carry them out the next, yelling for some medical assistance.  
  
Eric heard the Sergeant, saw his fellow soldiers gradually learning the terrible lesson he had already learned in the few months he had been here.  
  
Terrible how he felt no stirrings of sympathy deep within him. Three more lessons learned.....harder for them then for him....  
  
What had the girl from Seines told him? The cynical young girl who had spit on the trains of soldiers that left the station full of boys about to be awakened as no one should...and return men.  
  
"We've heard about you, you think you're safe....Anglians, best soldiers in the world...bah!" She was so derisive. Eric despised her and loved her at the same time, as one does to all who open our eyes to our own foolishness.  
  
"When the battle is over..." her finger pointed at him, her eyes full of the fire of hatred, Eric could see her still in the dark silence of the trenches, hearing only his own breathing as the gas slowly dissipated.  
  
"When your _great_ battle is over, it will be like before, in the north....at Vernun. You fight and fight....be you what you are or what we are and when the last Anglian soldier is left on the field, the last one standing is worth nothing in our eyes...for all that we have lost...if one of you remains, he won't remain for long at our hands!"  
  
She was older than Eric's nineteen years, he was a little in awe of her, of the black armband she wore, of her unquenchable pain. Someone she loved was gone.......  
  
And now three others had joined this shadowy figure whom Eric would never meet, yet who still had influenced this moment, this day so much. They weren't yet casualties of war.....the only thing really gone was what lay inside the boy in the trenches who thought of them.  
  
And the real fighting had not even begun. The grizzled veterans cackled and taunted the new recruits, Eric had been no exception.  
  
"You think a gas attack is bad?! Why lads, this be in broad sight! You should be a-fearing the ones you'll never see, the ones that creep inside of the trenches in the unholy hours of the night....no warning, no sound. But it's real lads, it's real And then there's the bombardments. No reprieve there. Big Beartha and the Alemanians don't have no sympathy for the saps that be gettin' in their way, no sir. All day, all night, no rest.....nothing. The bugle sounds, the signal be given and we go over the top. Lads, have you ever been over the top......?!!"  
  
Eric ceased listening. Old wives tales, that's all. Besides, this war was almost over. After two years, their leaders had assured them that the end was in sight.  
  
Just one more push, one more huge offensive and the Alemanians would go scurrying home with their tails tucked between their legs.  
  
Just one more, the biggest, then this horrendous war would be over. It was time to show all of these continent dwellers what the Anglians could do! Two days and his division would attack.  
  
The Alemanians wouldn't know what hit them. Just two days, with the constant bombardment into enemy trenches already well under way. At the river they would break through and end this madness.  
  
At the Solme.  
  
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The plane came to life under Kit's skillful fingers. He had learned under the best, and the knowledge he possessed was not just the basic techniques and understandings of the aircraft he sat in.  
  
It was knowing the freedom it brought, a freedom different than what Kit Cloudkicker had once thought he wanted. A freedom without loneliness......  
  
He should have felt better being here, but any thought of home, however vague, brought a lump to Kit's throat and a twisting of his stomach.  
  
Another drop, another day.....it was madness, what people could do.  
  
All of Kit's studies and all of his preparations could never prepare him for this. He had seen little except ravaged countryside, bombed-out buildings and bleak expressions of hopelessness from the refugees that continued to pour in from every corner of Eporue, either to escape or to return to the places that had once been their homes. To find that nothing remained, nothing was left, it was barren......  
  
With an incredibly smooth takeoff and a set scowl on his face, Kit turned to his co-pilot, who was going over coordinates and instructions one more time.  
  
Smiling briefly, the young pilot let his thoughts wander for a moment, feeling the same sweeping emotion that always accompanied his high- mindedness.  
  
Those people, the ones whose faces appeared so empty. Well, that's what they were there for, to help.  
  
Still, there was so much destroyed and even more to rebuild. And there were so many who were in need. Kit shook the cobwebs out of his head, these runs could too easily become routine and he could too easily become distracted with his own soul-searching and his own memories.  
  
It was a trap he fell into rather often. Perhaps it was the desolation and horror that surrounded them, perhaps it was seeing the fragile ties that bound loved ones together, or shattered with the strain of war. Or maybe it was all of these things that made Kit constantly think back to home, to Baloo and Rebecca and the warm memories that resided there.....  
  
~Li'l Britches, yer gonna be late unless you hold still an' let me fix this!" Sighing impatiently Kit stood very still and let Baloo adjust the cap on his head.  
  
The boy remembered another time when the large pilot had had to help him with that, and the image....no, more so what the memory signified, caused a warm sensation, pleasantly familiar, to wash over the cub.  
  
Hardly a cub anymore. The tall, thin, soon to be official pilot had grown by leaps and bounds in a few short years.  
  
Now, the 18 year old stood eye to eye with Baloo, who stared at his former navigator as though seeing him for the first time. It was as if the bear couldn't quite believe that Kit was no longer a little boy, but a young man.  
  
The pilot felt near to bursting with pride as he watched Kit, who looked so grown-up....almost, like an adult in his graduation robes.  
  
Baloo gently let his large hand rest on the young man's head. How could he possibly express his pride, or his thankfulness at having been a part of this boy's life? Kit...always so full of potential, always having the ability to go so far. His opportunities were limitless, even with the pain and struggles of his past, but still the gray bear felt a wave of sadness confront him.  
  
It had been too quick, the years that had passed. Not for the first time Baloo felt a surge of regret at having only had the chance to participate in Kit's life for a relatively small number of years, as compared to other parents who had managed, through their own foresight, to share a lifetime.  
  
Kit, as he always had since the day he'd met the large bear, quickly caught on to Baloo's train of thought and gave him a wistful smile, his eyes meeting the older pilot's and remaining there.  
  
The strength and power of the emotions that connected the two was astounding....and unbroken, even here at another crossroad in Kit's life. One of many.  
  
A small cough from the far end of the office that was officially known as Higher for Hire brought the two fly-boys attention back to the present and the events about to take place this night.  
  
Ms. Cunningham, insistently Rebecca, but most of the time known as Becky, watched the pair. She was continually amazed at the depth of feeling and the near tangible connection between the ace pilot and erstwhile navigator. She was even more amazed at how often such things had the power to move her.  
  
Baloo looked over at his boss and grinned suddenly as he stared at her. Kit also let his eyes rest on the two adults, seeing something the two objects of his attention still refused to.....and grinning pretty widely himself.  
  
Baloo absently studied the businesslady, a fairly common habit that he had gotten used to, especially these last few years. She wasn't exactly his idea of a knockout, certainly, but the gray bear had known and counted on Rebecca for too many years for him to deny the fact that there was....something.....that caught his eye about her.  
  
Again, he was glad she and Molly, looking glum and stiffly starched in her dress, were here to share this with him.  
  
"Well Kit-boy, that should do it" Baloo tightly grasped Kit's shoulder as he turned to stare at himself critically in the mirror.  
  
"Next time I guess it'll be a uniform......" the young bear muttered to himself, adjusting his robes and missing completely the flash of worry that passed over Baloo's, then Rebecca's face.  
  
1943.....Kit's graduation year, with most of Eporue still under Alemanian occupation, and most of the world embroiled in a tense and drawn out conflict. One that both Kit's legal guardian, Kit's boss and many of the boy's closest friends had prayed would end before the former navigator became old enough to enlist.  
  
A selfish emotion, but too strong to be denied and with the alternative being too terrifying for them to fathom.  
  
"Okay, I guess I'm ready Ms. Cunningham" Kit stood, stiff and formal, as Rebecca held her camera up, prepared to capture this moment for the years to come, no matter how uncertain that subject seemed tonight against the futility of a family's struggle with war.  
  
Kit looked so grown-up. Rebecca's thoughts unconsciously mirrored Baloo's. The woman felt her heart tug sharply. She felt...old, standing here remembering the boy that was.  
  
And always with those memories came.....  
  
"Baloo, put your arm around Kit's shoulders, and Molly sweetie, quit moping and stand over there....on the other side."  
  
The girl, previously holding her chin in her hands with a sour expression and impatiently fidgeting on the stairs, jumped up and stepped over to stand on the opposite side of the former navigator, playfully elbowing him in the ribs for good measure.  
  
"Okay now...."  
  
"Hold it Beckers" Baloo interrupted the businesslady as she held the camera up once more. "You too, fix that whacha-call it and git over here."  
  
Smiling briefly, Rebecca complied and stepped over to be squeezed into the small, yet tightly knit group. Baloo casually placed an arm around her shoulders and here, with the lights of Cape Suzette harbor and the sweet smell of the tropics welcomed through the open window, the woman felt....right, secure.  
  
Perhaps it was because of the brighter, stronger light that the inhabitants of this place would forever associate with it. It wouldn't fade with time, or that particular night's passing with the dawn. It wouldn't even fade with the absence of one member, who would think back to the four smiling faces, the younger man and girl and his surrogate parents, with joy.~  
  
"Naw....his head's still in the clouds, literally" Blinking, Kit looked over to see his co-pilot, Gary, a young cat...still a year older than Kit, grinning at the bear knowingly.  
  
"Huh?" Kit was momentarily distracted.  
  
"While you were taking a long trip into.....well, wherever it is you go when you get all glassy-eyed, we just made the drop-off......boy, guess this is _really_ becoming routine, huh Kit? Same old, same old...so much for the excitement of going behind enemy lines."  
  
Kit grinned back sheepishly. *Enemy lines my foot* "So Max and Ron are.....?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly and motioned towards the cargo hold.  
  
"They were just checking to see if you were still with us......of course I told 'em no."  
  
The erstwhle navigator chuckled and gazed back out of the window as Gary tapped his headphones, still conversing with the other two occupants of the plane.  
  
Silence ensued for a while after as Kit strained his eyes, not really expecting to see anything of import. Gary wasn't kidding when he talked about routine. A course was mapped out, the goods delivered, and no other excitement had been encountered in all of their runs.  
  
Of course, it wasn't exactly as though they were blazing a trail into enemy airspace. The remainder of what was left of Alemanian artillery and their once numerous squadrons now only seemed to have one purpose.....taking down Usland bombers and fighter planes wreaking havoc on the cities to the east. Cities, territory, never mind the civilians....that the Alemanian leadership seemed bound and determined to hold onto.  
  
Unfortunately, _strategic_ bombing sites also happened to be populated.....and the relief supplies that Kit remained convinced were making a difference to the ones that were suffering, weren't able to reach everyone who really needed them.  
  
Thinking of the nature of exactly what existed out there, what had taken place, and what could still be happening, scattered the young pilot's thought like dry leaves caught in a wind gust. No longer an uncommon occurence, his ability to disappear into his own mind, his own ponderings. Under different circumstances, it might have been pleasant.  
  
Gary's solemn voice broke through the bear's second distraction, a now- familiar interruption. Kit was glad for it today. Whenever his thoughts went in an unwanted direction, Kit found the accompanying emotions almost overpowering.  
  
The helplessness and sheer frustration of not being able to aid...or at least prevent all that he knew was going on, even all that he encountered, however distantly was excruciating to the young pilot's sensitive nature and prominent idealism. But he was patient, biding his time with disappointments of the past and the realization of countless of missed opportunities. He had wanted a chance, here he was...but he would have to wait a little more to see what his efforts could actually do, or how their small division's progress could be measured. It could be that he just cared too much without knowing why.  
  
Perhaps it was even more significant with his own past. His own painful memories of hunger and suffering. Or perhaps it was his personal stake with the people who were suffering most...more than the Alemanian populace, more than the populations of the surrounding and occupied nations.  
  
Kit shut his eyes, but not before easing the huge aircraft onto the landing strip with skillful ease.  
  
Personal stake.....a strong and painful understatement.  
  
The lieutenant of this casual division strolled up to the four-man crew as Kit cut the engines and clambered out slowly.  
  
"Well lads, ready to have another go at it?" Eric folded his arms, oblivious to the groaning that quickly accompanied his chipper announcement.  
  
Gary met Kit's gaze and rolled his eyes, the latter could only manage a weak half-smile in return. The young bear still felt disconnected, far- off.  
  
"Hey......;you chaps were certainly knowing what you were gettin' yourself into. Just be happy that you're not walking right into the hot spots that most of these other fly-boys are foolish enougth to risk flyin' into. Sure happens to be worse things than a little dull work....so let's load up, refuel, time to pull chocks now"  
  
The racoon smirked at the four young men before letting his eyes rest on Kit. "Cloudkicker, you up to this flight?"  
  
Kit started, then nodded vigorously, sweating under the intense stares of the lieutenant and his co-pilot.  
  
"Lookin' rather pale lad. What's the problem?" The raccoon's sharp eyes turned hard in a flash, a strange mix of inquiry and suspicion in them.  
  
It was though the elderly officer could read Kit's mind, and had no regard for the weakness of emotion he found there. A sharp contrast, certainly, from what Kit was used to recieving from the older man. The former navigator blinked in surprise.  
  
Quickly the hardness passed to be replaced by the same mild expression that was usually to be found on the racoon's countenance. "No sir.....just a bit distracted, that's all"  
  
Reflexively the young man rubbed at his cap, a habit he had gotten into long ago, under different, less complicated circumstances.  
  
Gary lightly punched Kit's shoulder. "Daydreaming.....bet I can guess what about!" Kit raised a disdainful eyebrow as the three other young men cracked up.  
  
Rolling his eyes the pilot shook his head ruefully. "Sure, whatever floats your boat, well, you heard the man....ready for another go at this?"  
  
Another round of groans followed Kit's question and accompanying, toothy grin.  
  
"Ever feel as though we're just hitting the same spots? I mean., there are a lot of people out there who could use this stuff....." Max's blunt statement and direct voicing of Kit's former doubts froze the bear in his tracks, even as the other two members of the small unit shrugged and continued preparations, nearly ready to take off once more.  
  
Kit met Max's gaze uncertainly. "I kind of got that impression too......weird huh? I....uh....guess I just thought that, well....that those are the places were the stuff's needed right now....."  
  
The reasoning sounded feeble even to Kit's own ears. Max, a dark-brown, short of stature dog lightly shook his head before walking off, leaving Kit with a new addition to his already overflowing doubts and growing discontent.  
  
Someone else felt that something was amiss, or at least that something more could be done. So......why wasn't it happening?  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
July 3, 1916  
  
Dust filled his mouth and eyes, blinding him, choking him, making him cough. The shrill scream of another shell coming dangerously close to his position barely penetrated through the fog of terror and self-preservation that Eric felt overwhelming him.  
  
A scream to his left, two more explosions. If there was a hell promised to the young soldier, this was it. The bombardment was a study in the might of modern weaponry, and the weaknesses and carelessness of the men who used it. It was truly a great strain against the fragile resolve which could not be classifiied, either by those who possessed it, or by those who fought against it.  
  
Grinding, shrieking, over and over, no end, no rest. Dirt came flying everywhere as the ground shook with the impact of shell after shell, the murderous fire had gone on for days at a time.  
  
Haze, smoke, the groans of the ones who weren't as lucky as Eric. The young racoon felt a trickle of sweat move down his back, followed by another.  
  
He was trapped, paralyzed. There were craters all around him, not even a step away......it may has well had been a mile. And he was alone. But he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going out there again, no sir.  
  
The soldier grasped his canteen, steeling himself to hold it steady amidst the continuing din of shells, shrapnel and destruction. He needed the water to make it back if an enemy's bullet didn't find him first.  
  
They were so accurate, and the grim resignation of those so young, his mates, who had fallen all around him was a testimony to the callousness of man vs. machine.  
  
Attrition, no forgiveness. Eric felt dirty, and it wasn't just from the clouds of dust all around him that never seemed to settle. He had something on his hands....and he could never wash them clean again.  
  
Gasping, trying desperately to breathe, Eric strained his eyes to peek over the edge of the hole he was pinned in. Other than the deafening roar of the ongoing bombardment, any sign or sound of life was lost.  
  
Straining his neck even more, Eric tried again, letting his guard slip just a bit. As if in response to his silent question, a single sniper shot rang out......incredible that he'd been able to hear it amidst the horrendous noise.  
  
The bullet kicked up some dirt and other unrecognizable filth inches away from the racoon's face. With a lightning reflex, Eric flattened himself against the jagged surface that made up the floor of this hovel.  
  
Darkness was only a few hours away, he could feel it, and when it's cover came he could attempt to cross back over to his home trench, never would he welcome it as he would this day.  
  
This sun faded, as did everything else in this senseless waste. Eric slowly and carefully crawled out of his prison.....he couldn't allow himself to feel anything particularly harsh towards it. In the past few hours of agony, it's shelter had guarded his life.  
  
Amazing....the bombardment, the endless explosions that reaped so much devastation, didn't touch the young soldier as he crawled back, the few feet that had cost so much....and here he was going back. Ironic, the bombardment was actually coming from _his_ side...but it's destruction was just as terrible as if it had been fired from enemy guns.  
  
With one last heave, he pulled himself into the closest trench....no, it wasn't his, certainly it wasn't the one he had come out of anyway. But he was safe here.  
  
Three surprised soldiers crowded around him, their faces said everything, nothing else could have been heard under the constant firing of shells. They let him rest, let him shut his eyes and catch his breath, the unasked questions hanging between them. Eric would never again feel the desire to answer.  
  
"Boy! Can you hear me?! I asked you something!!" Eric slowly made eye- contact with an officer, previously unnoticed. A sergeant, from the looks of his stripes. The racoon shook his head in bewilderment, the words of the sergeant barely penetrating.  
  
"The Captain wants to hear about what progress has been made.....where's the rest?"  
  
"The rest.....?" Eric barely managed to answer, his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth.  
  
"Yes lad! The rest!! Come now, how far did they get? They reached the far trench didn't they.....why, I'll bet those bastards are runnin' for their bloody hides at this point."  
  
The Sergeant's idiotic grin, along with his clapping and shaking of Eric's shoulder seemed a distant nightmare. Could this really be happening? Was this person actually serious? How......how could _anything_ be left?  
  
"No sir, most didn't make it. The one's tha' arrived half-way are certainly gone, sir" Eric's cold and deadly voice slowly wiped the wide, hapless smile off of the other officer's face.  
  
"Surely you're not serious.....we had to have broken through somewhere.....!!"  
  
"No where! There's nothing left!! Tell that to your precious Captain. May he burn..... You fool, there's nothing left! Too many times! I swear that you have done this too many times and it's over!! If I live through this night, every day after that I draw breath I'll never see this happen again! These chaps deserve better, and I'll make sure they get it......you mark my words!"  
  
The Sergeant stood slack-jawed. Eric felt better than he had in months. Maybe now he could forget. Maybe now he could sleep without the nightmares that haunted him.  
  
If he had a purpose, if there _was_ a purpose....maybe he could go on.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
The events seemed familiar, even though the atmosphere was foggy and distant.  
  
Rebecca's apartment was spotless and the glittering, warm lights of Cape Suzette twinkled at Kit, speaking to him of memories, of friends.  
  
The early evening light created a contrast....the pink clouds, the sparkling stars, the dark rolling hills, and the peaceful sound of a man- made waterfall, a welcome sound which the navigator would forever associate with his boss' apartment.  
  
Even more welcome was the sound of familiar voices, blending together to form something tangible, something Kit could almost see and touch.  
  
Rebecca's voice was softly talking to Molly, in that distinct tone reserved for the little girl and the young boy whose lives she was grateful to be able to participate in.  
  
Baloo's deep baritone carried over her words and a strong, but gentle hand touched Kit's shoulder.  
  
The large pilot smiled at his navigator, looking rather unfamiliar in his more formal clothing and lopsided tie.  
  
*He'll never get that thing right....* Kit smiled back.  
  
"Should be back in a few hours kiddo. Remember..._any_ trouble..." Baloo didn't have to finish.  
  
Kit's second time babysitting, the cub was pretty sure that nothing could be quite as hair-raising as that first experience.  
  
"No worries Papa Bear, what are the chances of another ice-cream happy squid causin' trouble?" Kit giggled a bit at his own joke, and more at the memory. He tried unsuccessfully to stop...and failed as Baloo merely raised an eyebrow at him, grimacing.  
  
"Uh....Kit-boy, maybe we should post-pone this..."  
  
"Oh Baloo! I _am_ 12 years old, and I can handle this! Didn't I handle it before?"  
  
Baloo wearily ran a hand over his face. "All I'm sayin' is any sign o' trouble, well....you know, but don't ferget!"  
  
"I know, I know, the phone...I've memorized it's location" Kit grinned widely at the large pilot, who stared back at the boy for a moment before chuckling and rubbing the top of the cub's head.  
  
Maybe it was the persistent, gut-wrenching flashback of Kit hanging from Rebecca's apartment window, tightly clinging to Molly's hand and a huge....squid-like creature just a few feet away.  
  
Unconsciously, the bear pulled Kit to him and held the boy loosely. Kit, never one to take a hug for granted, smiled to himself and wrapped his small arms around the larger pilot as best he could.  
  
"Well Baloo, think we should be going?" Rebecca approached the duo, holding her daughter who was obviously a bit excited. Kit could feel exhaustion overtaking him already.  
  
He knew that glint in the little girl's eyes.  
  
Kit watched Ms. Cunningham almost admiringly. She always seemed to look....nice. And it looked right somehow, seeing her in her dress, standing next to Baloo, whose height complimented, rather than took away from the two's appearance.  
  
"Kit, you have the instructions?" To her credit, the businesslady only looked slightly ill-at-ease leaving the boy in charge. Kit felt a flash of happiness....Ms. Cunningham's trust was not something he took lightly.  
  
"Sure Ms. Cunningham....um, we won't go anywhere this time" The navigator looked down at his feet sheepishly, shifting them and very aware of a prominent sense of deja vu.  
  
"Oh, that's fine Kit, I'm sure you'll do...... fine" The boy looked up quickly as Rebecca smiled at him......and herself before setting Molly down and rested her hands on Kit's shoulders.  
  
Baloo felt something tug at his heart as he watched the cub's expression. It meant so much to the navigator....that simple phrase, the meaning behind it.  
  
Rebecca knew it, and the large pilot was grateful.  
  
"Well, we'll be back soon" the woman said brightly, "Molly.....?"  
  
Rebecca looked at her daughter sharply, who in turn seemed happily oblivious to her reputation.  
  
"Okay Mommy! I'll be real good!"  
  
Baloo winked at Kit as the gray bear headed out the door behind Rebecca. The friendly guesture didn't do much to relieve the cub's mind, especially when he glanced at Molly.....or rather, he glanced at where Molly was supposed to have been, seeing only empty space.  
  
Momentary panic set in until the boy spotted a flash of yellow dart around the corner and into the hallway. He really didn't need to see much else, as he recognized further the high-pitched giggling that gave away the little girl's location.  
  
Rolling his eyes dramatically, Kit managed a small half-smile, deciding to play along.  
  
In mock bewilderment the navigator began searching the spacious living room in the most...ah, obvious places. Under couch cushions, in drawers, underneath and between the smallest spaces and cracks of the comfortable furniture found throughout the room.  
  
The squealing and giggling continued and Kit's sharp ears kept track of the child as she rather awkwardly attempted to stay out of sight.  
  
Slowly and deliberately the boy began edging towards a dark corner, keeping his eyes averted. He heard a slight movement before he whirled around to grab the little girl, who was nearly helpless with laughter.  
  
"Ah-ha! Thought you'd get away with it, huh? Hmmm..." Kit's stern tone didn't quite reach his eyes as Molly grinned expectantly.  
  
"What should I do with you? Any suggestions? It has to be the _worst_ punishment ever thought of...no, no, ever dreamed of...No! Better yet, it has to be so bad, no one would ever dare think of something like it until this very moment!!"  
  
Kit held his arms out wide as though to emphasize his point and leaned over Molly who tried to look and behave as any subdued prisoner awaiting sentencing normally would.  
  
Her constant fits of giggling made such behavior rather difficult.  
  
"What does the convicted have to say for herself?" Kit folded his arms and glared at the yellow cub, who appeared deep in thought.  
  
"Um....sorry?"  
  
"Sorry? Sorry?!! Boy, and I thought you were in trouble before!"  
  
Molly wrapped her arms around Kit's knees, who was now, in turn, laughing hysterically.  
  
"No, no! Please.... I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry!"  
  
"Well, so am I....but you have been sentenced to....hmm, a solid minute of tickling"  
  
Kit shook his head sadly as Molly shrieked and attempted to dart around the taller navigator whose reflexes were, as usual, much quicker.  
  
"Oh come on...she who does the crime has to do the time..." The two children were by now laughing too hard to do much of anything except roll around on the carpet.  
  
When some small semblence of order had returned to the scene, Molly jumped up once again and flopped down on the couch.  
  
Kit propped himself up on one elbow after rearranging his cap, previously hanging precauriously over one ear.  
  
"Kit?"  
  
"Yeah Pigtails?" Still catching his breath the cub paused before looking up at the child.  
  
"You're my best friend"  
  
He hadn't been expecting that. The room was silent for a moment before a small smile, which grew slowly but without any sign of stopping showed on the navigator's face.  
  
"Aw shucks Molly...my ears are turning red. Well, you're pretty special yourself"  
  
The words may have sounded casual, even off-handed, but they came from the boy's heart.  
  
"Kit, you won't forget about me will you? When you grow up?" The little girl's face was, as always, completely open...with her heart on her sleeve.  
  
Kit felt a warm emotion begin to creep into his chest...and grow. "No way kid. Sorry to say that you're stuck with me, guess we'll have to stay friends"  
  
"You promise?"  
  
Kit met the child's gaze strait-forwardly and nodded, still smiling. "I promise..."  
  
Molly smiled back, the simple happiness with nothing attached coming quickly and easily to her....and the simple but strongly felt friendship between the two cubs strengthening.  
  
Kit wondered suddenly what the strange noise was....the persistent ringing that had filled the apartment.  
  
The walls suddenly looked very hazy, before the place disappeared once again, retreating back to the young pilot's memories.  
  
With a groan Kit turned over nad slapped his alarm clock viciously.  
  
"Just five more minutes...gimme five more minutes Baloo"  
  
"Sorry Cloudkicker"  
  
With a start Kit jerked awake, brought back with the sound of the familiar, yet still out of place sound of Gary's voice.  
  
The pilot ran a hand over his face, glaring at the florescent lights that suddenly appeared, with their tell-tale hum and even more annoying brightness.  
  
The young cat's head appeared as well as he leaned over the edge of the top bunk directly above Kit.  
  
The young bear attempted to return Gary's lopsided grin....and failed, his exhausted body and frequently distracted mind still refusing to connect. Especially at this time in the morning.  
  
"Let me know again why it is we have to get up at this time?" The former navigator muttered, pulling himself out bed with only a great exertion of will.  
  
"Ah...ain't it great?! The joys of enlisting"  
  
Kit rolled his eyes. Joys....some forms of happiness he could do without.  
  
"Could be worse" Max joined the pair's conversation suddenly, his typical seriousness unaffected by the early morning hours, or the darkness which seemed to be the only thing visible from the window.  
  
"How so?" Gary grumbled, scratching his head distractedly.  
  
"Well, Eric's a big softie sometimes....all he had to do was complain to the quote, unquote headquarters to give you mama's boys an extra hour of shut-eye. His _ace_ pilots shouldn't be experiencing any kind of discomfort now should they?"  
  
Smirking, the dog brushed past his crew-mates.  
  
"And you can just stuff it in..."  
  
"Easy Gary, he's got a point, hate to admit it...but you can't argue"  
  
"Yeah...watch me"  
  
Rolling his eyes vigorously Kit followed the other two out, shaking his head.  
  
He did have a point.....although how and why Eric came to have so much sway with most of the _higher_ authorites was a mystery to the young bear.  
  
The elderly racoon held a rather prominent rank, true....but he wasn't exactly a four-star general, Kit had thought it was merely due to formalities.  
  
And their job technically couldn't even be categorized as being under military control.  
  
So....why did the older officer have so much say in different matters? When the lieutenant spoke, most people listened....or when he chose to keep to himself, then in turn, he was left to himself.  
  
The young pilot's keen sense of observation kept picking up....irregularities.  
  
He liked Eric, but the racoon had gradually instilled a sense of uneasiness in Kit.  
  
In spite of himself, the bear let his nagging doubts creep in. And those drops...why did their division continue to get special treatment when other did not?  
  
And why did he feel like they were stuck in such a rut in regards to the routes they continued to follow, or in regards to the actual number of supplies they dropped?  
  
It didn't....add up. Kit's deeply imbedded sense of fairness, even his own guilt or self-berating tactics seemed to want to take over, to find out the causes, to find a solution, to....at least just to think about the situation and not to simply justify whatever it was that was going on!!  
  
Should he ask? Maybe....he was almost there, to that point...almost.  
  
But after being shut out and facing rejections time after time, he was a little less willing to begin a confrontation. On the other hand, how could he not?  
  
Isn't that why he was here in the first place? The morning cold was cold, nearly frigid, with the bitter wind causing a great deal of discomfort amongst the individual members of the division.  
  
With a brisk step that belied his appearance, Eric Baggett scanned his own personal team. Was it just him or did these boy's seem to get younger and younger? What in God's name were they doing here, in this hell-hole?  
  
At least they weren't thrown in the meat grinder, the battle fields that chewed men up and spit them out without care or punishment.  
  
There was just no justice....never would be.  
  
"Well lads, you know the drill!" With a slight waving of his hand, the officer stepped aside.  
  
Kit's brow creased, a larger shipment, the same drop. Just....exactly what was happening?  
  
The young pilot loitered behind. "Hey...uh, Eric....sir"  
  
The racoon raised his eyebrows.  
  
"I mean, just Eric, hey...I was wondering. Do you ever get a chance t-to see....or at least have some kind of an idea of our progress out there?"  
  
"Progress? Afraid I don't follow you lad"  
  
"Y'know..." to his dismay, Kit felt his determination crumbling at the sudden, awkward atmosphere. He tried again.  
  
"Progress, as in shouldn't we be expanding our perimeter a bit? I...uh, kind of get the impression of being stuck in a rut"  
  
There, he had said it. The young pilot braced himself.  
  
"Well my boy, don't try to apply common sense to orders. It'll only get you in trouble."  
  
Kit blinked at the cryptic reply. *What kind of answer was that?*  
  
The coldness, the shadows and darkness in the racoon's eyes send chills over the bear.  
  
The former navigator suddenly got the impression that he had been brushed off, rather tactlessly if you got right down to it.  
  
Blatant disregard to his inquiry. Kit stood rooted to the ground.  
  
Eric's composure didn't falter in the least.  
  
"Best to get a move on Kit" The addressed individual scowled, the faintest, not to mention the first, tinges of mistrust appearing between him and the older officer.  
  
"You worry too much lad. As long as you don't come head to head with those Alemanian warmongers, then just.....follow suite, and don't push your luck"  
  
Kit felt a flash of anger. He had every right to ask and every right to know exactly what kind of head-way or improvement they had brought to the situation.  
  
That was why he was here, why he had left home in the first place. Kit couldn't ignore the feeling that not enough was being done.  
  
When he had first arrived here, he had felt a comraderie among the division. It wasn't exactly a military operation, it was...well, for humanitarian purposes.  
  
Gradually Kit felt the empowerment he'd first experienced upon arriving here fade away to be replaced by the sensation and knowledge of becoming alienated and isolated.  
  
He didn't know why. True, Max felt the same doubts, but without the necessary emotion that Kit felt so strongly.  
  
An intrusive grain of thought formed a sentence in Kit's mind as he made his way to the boxes to help in the routine process of loading the huge aircraft.  
  
*Why haven't I ever deviated from the course a bit?* The pilot didn't doubt his ability to do it, he had the skills to pull it off.  
  
But at this point...he just didn't feel ready. He couldn't endanger the rest of the crew that way anyway. And he really had no idea of where they could drop off the supplies without encountering the enemy, or wasting what they had by dropping it where it was even less helpful than where the cargo was being delivered now.  
  
Eric planned most of the routes, and if he didn't then he recieved them from elsewhere.  
  
Kit sighed. There were more crates than what he remembered for the last drop. Something was up.  
  
With a new found determination and a sharpening of his senses, Kit glared and started the engines before Gary could inquire into the normally easy- going young man's stormy mood.  
  
"Let's get this over with...I'm sure they're all waiting with bated breath"  
  
The cynical tone and almost bitter remark grated against the other pilot's nerves.  
  
*Wonder what's gotten into him?* Gary peered at his co-pilot intensely for a second, then shrugged his irritation off.  
  
Everyone got a little bored and restless if they felt as though they weren't going anywere...or doing anything constructive. But Gary didn't doubt their efforts, he didn't have to. All of the progress he needed was right here, in the fact that he did his job, no question.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
October 12, 1917  
  
Mud. Rain, cold, misery, all compounded into one word....and that word was mud.  
  
Two years of bombardments, a month of rain, casualties, pain, the livid terror of being trapped in a small trench no bigger than an arm's width, with the walls slowly and surely sliding down, closing in, making the small group trapped within this prison of their own making nearly frantic withe the sense of suffocating claustrophobia.  
  
And still the rains came, freezing Eric to the marrow of his bones, and the mud grew thicker, deeper, more impossible, more depressing, all the more useless to try and fight against.  
  
Trench against trench, soldier against soldier, snipers and artillery, fear and discontent, but even more noticeable than all of these, and far more real than this dreamscape of craters and tree stumps that Eric inhabited.....was the mud.  
  
It clung to everything, making the filthy surroundings and sheer helpless desire to be clean and leave this wallowing mess behind, all the more prevalent.  
  
The absolute misery was shared by all, bringing them together more effectively than any treaty, armistice, or sheer depletion of resources, ever could.  
  
Eric sat with his back against the slippery mass of filth that was once a trench wall. He could not move, nor did he have any desire to do so.  
  
Roll call, God.....the ghastly and mocking scenario that had been roll call this morning.  
  
He had thought he had seen it all, lived through the horrors and come through the fire at the Solme. Charging through a cloud of certain doom......over the top.....wave after wave of waste. And in the end, when the sun set and their glorious cause was seen for what it truly was? What was left?  
  
Inches.....mere inches......and nothing more.  
  
So, here at Pachendaele, in the all-encompassing, lurking depression and hopelessness that swallowed everything, buried it in the mud, what had he learned?  
  
Another stalemate, another look into the terror of denial and oblivion as his captain urged, "One more try lads! Let's have a go at this just one more.....then we'll have those devils. We'll make them pay, I swear. Just one more, up and over....and it'll be won, it will be ours!"  
  
No one believed it anymore, the emptiness and incredulousness that showed in the men's eyes spoke of years of lies and frustration. They no longer believed in much of anything. Not when they picked their weighed down bodies up to face an unkown fate, over the embankment did they know.  
  
No one knew.....no one.  
  
And it terrified Eric, more then the eyes that fell upon him when his division was called to step forward, identify themselves.....and there he stood, hours after the skirmish, alone.  
  
If no one understood, why were they fighting.....the same burning question refused to let Eric go. What was it all for?  
  
This wasn't the glory he'd envisioned. Here there was only phantoms that would not release him and clung to him as persistently as the everlasting mud.  
  
The bleaknesses on these faces, the exhaustion so thick it could be felt, seen, everywhere.  
  
Who was his enemy, who was his friend? Who knew anymore.....  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Storage Shed 11. Located a short distance away from the barracks. It was cold, this night....cold and beautiful. Also empty, with the vast, bombed- out landscape bearing witness to all that had taken place here....war that had lasted for nearly thirty years and was only now beginning to change, to evolve into something deeper.  
  
Something imminently and decisively more frightening. It never seemed to end. One conflict giving way, or paving the road to another, and another and another...until everyone, every generation...all they could remember was what existed here today.  
  
In the battlefields, in the empty shells and leveled horizons once called cities and towns. In the vast emptiness of being caught in a downward spiral and seeing no way out of it.  
  
The stars looked down on the small airfield, unmoved and unconcerned by all they had witnessed before, or would witness in the years to come.  
  
Kit felt the pressing silence in Shed 11 weighing down on him. He whistled softly to distract himself from the cold, oppresive atmosphere.  
  
It did little to help....but that didn't particularly bother him this night. There she was...gleaming in the far corner of the darkened shed. The Blue Eagle.  
  
Kit felt a rush of pride fill his heart. He self-consciously twisted and smoothed out the small rag in his hand as he made his way to the plane.  
  
She shone in the dim light. Kit lightly brushed the rag over the hull, wiping away some non-existent spots on the bright surface.  
  
He would never give Baloo grief about babying the Sea Duck again....okay, maybe just a little.  
  
Kit smiled briefly and shook his head, his eyes far away. It just made sense...his behavior at times, especially in regard to his beloved plane.  
  
Just one of the many traits Baloo had managed to pass onto him.~  
  
The clouds, barely visible, vapor beneath Kit's feet, provided an amazingly stable surface as the boy shifted, manuevered, and somehow always managed to keep his feet planted firmly on the smooth, metal board holding him up.  
  
A strange, crescent-shaped contraption, unlike anything any traveler, pilot, or casual observer had ever seen before.  
  
Kit could barely contain himself as he skillfully maintained both his balance and his grip on the tow rope handle, occasionally adjusting his cap planted stubbornly, if not too securely on his head.  
  
Kit finally grasped the bill of the baseball cap and tucked it under his arm as he swayed, turned and twisted with remarkable ease, helped by the aptly named air-foil directly under him.  
  
Occasionally he would give a slight wave to the sole occupant of the yellow sea-plane. Always, a large, burly arm waved back enthusiastically.  
  
Kit didn't know how long he'd been out here, but as long as Baloo didn't decide to haul him back inside the cargo hold, with or without Kit's permission, it was possible to enjoy himself as he could nowhere else, without anything solid to hold him back, tie him down.  
  
The boy felt as if he'd belonged here always, in the vast freedom he associated with the sky, the clouds. And indeed, he had belonged here, for as long as he could remember.  
  
It was just.....who he was. Out here he felt that little had changed in his short life, especially himself.  
  
It was only the occasional glimpse of Baloo's head as the large bear turned to check on the cub regularly, that reminded Kit of everything that had transpired, even changed dramatically in these few short years.  
  
His existence was now shared with someone else, for better or for worse, and all of the responsibility, pain and guilt....not to mention joy, that came with the territory was his to account for as well.  
  
Kit let his worries, his burdens, his childish, yet mature doubts and fears go as he connected with the openness, the sheer bliss of what existed around him.  
  
A bit too much....the boy paid no heed to the frequent gusts of wind, each one stronger than the last, that tried harder and harder to knock the small navigator off of the intriguing contraption he stood on.  
  
Kit wiped some sweat off of his forehead. He didn't look around him to see the dark, angry clouds forming, nor did he notice the frantic waving of the gray bear sitting in the cockpit, nervously eyeing the sky and even more nervously watching Kit falter and re-gain his balance once, twice, until finally having to shift his position to avoid being caught in a hazardous gust, and having to face losing his position and safety net altogether.  
  
A fierce, shrill sounding blast of wind twisted the stick Baloo clung to. Experiencing a sharp jab of complete panic, the gray bear peered out of the window to see Kit still grasping the tow rope, a determined scowl on his face, all the while shifting his feet in a losing battle with the surrounding elements.  
  
That did it for the pilot. Barely conscious of what he was doing as his eyes never left the boy dangling precariously outside of the Duck, Baloo flicked the switch controlling the outside rope, bringing the cub back inside.  
  
The bear shook his head tiredly upon hearing the familiar whir of the rope being drawn in. Too risky....time and time again he had to go through this  
  
He loved Kit too much to face the look of dissappointment on his navigator's face whenever he nearly refused to let the boy go out. And....that was probably every time.  
  
On the same token, he loved the cub too much to see him in that dangerous of a situation.  
  
It was about trusting Kit or being willing to see the cub hurt...possibly...  
  
Gripping the stick tightly and wincing at the sudden pain caused by the resulting tension, Baloo looked at the empty navigator's seat beside him.  
  
No.....it was about trusting Kit. But who could have told the gray bear exactly what he was getting himself into when he had seen the chance? The bear knew about the personal gamble it involved...and had moved ahead anyway.  
  
Gamble, calculated risk...the object of the bear's ponderings was taking his own at that very moment.  
  
Kit was now more than a little uneasy and didn't protest when he felt the tow rope tug sharply in his grasp.  
  
Time to come in anyway...this wind was growing increasingly dangerous.  
  
As if in answer to the boy's thoughts, another gust nearly tipped him over.  
  
Kit, not expecting it, concentrating only on the open cargo hatch and safety that lay inside of it, flailed for one moment.  
  
He managed to hold on, the cap, still under his arm, wasn't so lucky.  
  
It flipped out suddenly. Kit, in an unconsciously frantic movement, reached out, barely managing to grasp it with the tips of his fingers before the angry sky swallowed it up......and in the process sacrificed his hold on the tow rope.  
  
Disconnected from his life-line, but still amazingly close to the Sea Duck, and even more amazingly upright on his board and in one piece, Kit watched the cargo doors shut with a sickening clang. Baloo waited in his seat for a minute, fully expecting the cub to still be attached to his plane.  
  
It had to be that the boy had been born under a lucky star, or possessed a guardian angel who happened to be working overtime this day. Either way a second, equally powerful gust of wind pushed the cub up and over the top of the sea-plane.  
  
Kit took the one opportunity probably left to him and jumped off, landing easily on the dry, but still hazardous surface of the Duck. He held onto his airfoil, tucking it underneath his sweater and focusing all of his concentration on hanging on.  
  
His small fingers gripped the featureless metal surface that made up the main bulk of the plane. Crawling flat on his stomach, Kit finally reached his destination and pulled himself through the window on his side of the cockpit, thankfully still open.  
  
The cub then collapsed on the navigator's chair, exceedingly shaken up and frightened....disturbed at just how close he'd come this time.  
  
Glancing up, Kit frowned. He knew Baloo's flying wasn't as unsteady as the turbulence he was now experiencing.  
  
The autopilot was on. The gray bear was nowhere to be found.  
  
The tight knot of fear, along with the powerful afteraffects of adrenaline made Kit dizzy, shaky, and basically aware of an overall sense of exhaustion.  
  
The navigator nevertheless made his way to the cargo hold. Baloo stood in the middle of it, his back towards the boy.  
  
The bear was absolutely still, he was holding onto the handle of the tow rope that Kit knew very well....knew even better after this little incident, to be honest.  
  
No sound was heard except the shrill gusts that encircled the plane. Baloo's fingers clasped and unclasped the handle.  
  
Kit could feel the tension, it was close to smothering.  
  
"Uh...Baloo? Shouldn't you be flying?"  
  
Kit caught only a glimpse of the expression of stark horror on Baloo's face as that individual whirled around in shock.  
  
The boy didn't wait for the bear...he needed comforting right now as much as Baloo did, in spite of the growing storm.  
  
Kit flung his arms around the large pilot's neck as Baloo squeezed him as tightly as possible, occassionally brushing back Kit's hair and lightly rubbing his back.  
  
Neither said anything. Baloo was far too busy attemting to convince himself that his worst nightmare had not actually happened, and that Kit was right here, in his arms.  
  
The boy felt his previous terror seep away in the bear's comforting embrace. Maybe he shouldn't take for granted that there would be other times he could actually do this.  
  
"Kit...are you all right?" Baloo met his navigator's gaze intensely.  
  
Attempting to smile, Kit unpleasantly grimaced instead and nodded, nearly chocking on his emotions....too embarrassed to cry over what had just happened, too wound-up not to.  
  
"Thank God" Baloo put so much into those two words, his arms still tightly holding Kit.  
  
Picking the shaking cub up, the pilot started for the cockpit. He sat down in the pilot's seat, almost refusing to let Kit go, one arm around the boy and the other expertly manuevering the plane out of the approaching thunderclouds.  
  
Kit rested his head on the large bear's shoulder, too spent to do much else before he remembered something.  
  
Reaching up anxiously, a flash of relief hit Kit as he touched his navigator's cap. Today, it had shown him exactly what the bond between him and Baloo was....even if Kit didn't want to be shown ever again in such a manner.  
  
A strange thing....it was forever reminding Kit that he shared his life with someone else. Being reminded was sometimes pleasant...Kit shuddered remembering how he had felt watching those doors shut, while still being on the outside of them. Sometimes less so.  
  
Baloo squeezed Kit with the one arm still holding his navigator, still saying nothing, only grateful that the cub was there.  
  
Kit's breathing steadied out, his terrifying struggle which Baloo could only begin to imagine, having exhausted him to the point of complete fatigue.  
  
The cliffs of Cape Suzette looked particularly beautiful as the sun set nearby, the vivid colors more memorable than any painter's easel. The Sea Duck docked with it's usual grace, and the pilot of the plane carefully eased himself out, trying very hard to avoid waking the boy he carried.  
  
Tucking Kit into his small bed, Baloo set the cub's airfoil on the dresser, so the navigator would be sure to see it when he woke up. Sometimes the pilot hated that thing.  
  
But it meant everything to Kit...as if there was one thing Baloo understood, that was it. It meant everything....even when the bear felt torn apart with trying to keep the balance...and continually trying to convince himself that the events of today would never happen again.  
  
He didn't believe it...and it terrified him. Resting a large hand on Kit's back, Baloo's arm moved with the boy's deep breathing. But he trusted the navigator, certainly. At whatever risk to himself.~  
  
Kit's hand remained frozen on the rag. He stared back at his own troubled expression, with it's sad eyes.  
  
Baloo, years later had told him how he had felt seeing that empty cargo hold, having to face that blinding, searing pain of those terrible moments. The pilot had thought he would never see Kit again, never have the chance to tell how much he meant to the large bear......never again have the chance to hold him or tell him that he loved him.  
  
Kit swallowed hard remembering how aged Baloo had seemed re-telling the story. The guilt that had coursed through the cub when he'd seen the pain of the recollection on the large pilot's face left a sour taste in his mouth. It came with the territory. Baloo would never ask Kit to give up something that meant so much to him, it was one of the reasons Kit loved him so much. The large bear had never tried to change the boy, merely accepting him for what he was, whatever the cost.  
  
But at times it was such a source of tension between the two. Born from concern and worry on the one side, fierce independence and talent on the other.  
  
The airfoil was back at Higher for Hire. Kit had given it to Baloo, perhaps to ease the large bear's mind. The young pilot had almost grown too tall for it anyway. Recalling that day, Kit felt a flash of sadness. He missed something. Not the board, no. Baloo, he missed the pilot, for the hundredth time since arriving here. Strange how things changed, priorities with them.  
  
Strange that the orphan always associated that small business with images of home. The place where he had shared countless moments such as this. Of sacrifice, of forgiveness, of caring. Higher for Hire.  
  
But....the large bear should never have worried about missed chances. Kit remembered his young voice, young but oddly old with the wisdom his words carried.  
  
"Papa Bear.....I-I know, I always knew. No matter what happens"  
  
Kit wiped his eyes furiously, glaring at his reflection once again, still moved by the memory of how safe he had always felt with Baloo's arms around him, supporting him.  
  
The young pilot suddenly felt very lonely in this cold shed. The stabbing feeling of guilt that always accompanied Kit's recollections of those back home, washed over him once more.  
  
Baloo, Rebecca, all of them......the bear was fooling himself if he thought they weren't worried about him. He knew they were......and he felt saddened for being the cause of their pain, regardless of light it made him feel to know they cared.  
  
He would have to write to them tonight, even though he didn't have anything new to tell them. Same route, there wasn't even a pretence of occassionally making a drop elsewhere, there was only the run Kit had embedded in his brain. Same thing, every time, all of the time.  
  
The deep feelings of resentment simmered inside of Kit, he didn't try to stem them.  
  
This wasn't why he was here. Kit almost felt like a.......a failure. He had let not only himself down but everyone else who had believed in him, supported him, as well. These thoughts, if not exactly accurate would not let Kit be.  
  
He had an obligation to help. And he wasn't fulfilling it. But how could he get out of this situation? He alone seemed to have such feelings of restlessness, this burning sense of right and wrong which had always carried such strength with the former navigator. It was like a vital part of his personality was being forced to remain inactive.  
  
It was a dark tunnel of his own making, but he had no proof that anything was amiss. He had only suspicions, faint but undeniably present.  
  
Kit could not find any means to confirm that something was wrong, there was no one to give him a straight answer, no one who cared.  
  
It was as if Kit's original thoughts concerning the efforts of this operation and suffering it was supposedly relieving, was simply a cover-up.  
  
For what, the young man didn't know. But he certainly knew how to read a map, he still possessed his unerring sense of direction, if he could simply get a hold of the information he needed.....  
  
Kit's sense of altruism, his conscience which propelled him forward and had such a strong impact on his decisions, yet always, always clouded his judgement and his sense of self-preservation, not to mention created havoc in the lives of the one's to whom the young man's safety meant the most, came forward, pushing nearly everything else out of the pilot's mind.  
  
Well, almost everything else out. The young man's quick mind raced over possibilities quickly. He was lucky, he still had his own plane, though flying through either Usland or Alemaninan held airspace could be a complicated matter for an unmarked, neutral plane.  
  
But it certainly lessened the chances of being shot down. Kit knew this plane, know he could fly her through the worst possible scenarios that could be imagined. But he couldn't exactly take these supplies without a justifiable reason, could he? He would only be adding to his problems....and who would drop them while he piloted?  
  
There were too many uncertainties and Kit wasn't convinced enough to go through with it. Besides.....he'd given his word that he wouldn't take any unnecessary chances. He had promised.  
  
Gritting his teeth, Kit turned and stomped out of the shed, frustrated by his own inability to move forward, to make any kind of a difference.  
  
It always came down to this.....wanting to obey the wishes of those who had his best interests in mind, or following his heart, feeling the sense of fulfillment that came from seeing an impact in someone else's life. And he never wanted to put boundaries on that.  
  
But here he was, frustrated at his casual acceptance of the very thing he had always tried to avoid. The brisk wind blew Kit's jacket loosely around him.  
  
It was cold out. Matched the young pilot's mood perfectly. Kit rubbed his arms as he headed to the barracks. The bright lights of the airfield were merely an affirmation to the bear's plaguing thoughts.  
  
Several of the huge cargo planes stood empty, their size admittedly amazing, even to someone like the former navigator, someone who had made a tremendous effort to know everything there was to know about every type of plane that had ever existed.  
  
But these new models with everything they could do and all of the technology that went into their creation......truly, it seemed ironic that nothing was really being done to help those who needed it most.  
  
This system, every aspect of this entire system was mired down with technicalities, apathy, and stalemate. Kit suddenly became aware of another person's presence.  
  
He peered around the huge cargo hold to see another individual staring silently at the enourmous plane which had regulated both of their lives over the past few weeks.  
  
"Max! Bit cold to just be standing around outside, huh?"  
  
The dog didn't turn to look at Kit, there was only a half-smile that let the bear know that his presence had also been felt.  
  
"Just thinking. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you Cloudkicker?"  
  
The typical abrasive tone and serious demeanor no longer fooled Kit, who found himself liking the dog in spite of, or maybe because of his unusual personality quirks, sarcastic remarks and strange stance of always appearing to know more than what he let on.  
  
Kit chuckled and slapped Max on the back.  
  
"Yeah, couldn't sleep. Gonna pay for it tomorrow I guess"  
  
"Nah, you can just catch up on your beauty rest on tomorrow's run"  
  
Both stared at each other for a minute, the meaning behind the words not lost on Kit.  
  
"You too, huh?"  
  
"Me too what?"  
  
"You've noticed too? I'm....well, I'm wondering exactly what it is that's going on"  
  
Max merely raised an eyebrow. Kit felt his cheeks turn red at voicing his doubts. Maybe he _was_ simply interpreting too much out of all of this.  
  
"You think that we're dropping more'n flour and sugar?"  
  
Kit flushed even more. He felt stupid, and was disgusted at his inability to describe why. "Well, the people who are gettin' it are either multiplying like rabbits so we keep feeding them more and more or someone's hording this stuff."  
  
Max stared intently at the young pilot. "Why?" he bluntly inquired.  
  
Why? Kit certainly didn't know the answer to that. He just knew that something was definitely up.  
  
"W-Why would somebody want to horde any of this?"  
  
"Yeah, it's not like it's a valuable investment to stock up on baking supplies."  
  
The dog had a point. Kit felt like a royal idiot. He often did whenever he made the mistake of slipping up in front of the other man.  
  
Kit shook his head fiercely and turned to continue walking to the barracks, not bothering to say goodbye to the dog.  
  
"Cloudkicker" Max's voice called out.  
  
Not answering, the young bear turned around, one fist clenched.  
  
"You notice that there were five extra crates than there were a few days ago?"  
  
"But no changes to the route" Kit summed up, confused at the sudden change in the dog's attitude.  
  
"You wanna check it out?" Max looked completely serious. Kit had rarely seen him otherwise.  
  
"Can we do that?"  
  
"No! Of course not, you _are_ wet behind the ears, ain't ya? But who says anyone else has gotta know? They wanna keep their little secrets from the guys who are delivering this stuff....well, they gotta acknowledge that after a while a bit of harmless curiousity is gonna build up."  
  
Kit felt increasingly uneasy in spite of his almost all consuming desire to find out exactly what was going on. "Maybe we shouldn't, we could get kicked out...."  
  
Max rolled his eyes at the younger pilot. "For what? Checking up on supplies? For crying out loud, they're the ones who owe us an explanation!"  
  
"I, uh, I thought you didn't care" Kit had already begun following the brown dog into the large, darkened shed close by.  
  
"Your words, Cloudkicker, not mine. I'm just curious, that's all. They could be deliverin' gold bars as far as I care. Besides, if I didn't find out tonight, then someone else was gonna beat me to the punch, right?"  
  
Kit didn't answer. *Sometimes that guy thinks too much* But the erstwhile navigator couldn't deny that he had been close to the same actions himself. Max just snickered and looked at the young bear knowingly as both silently crept into the freezing shed.  
  
Without thinking Kit flicked on the light switch, enveloping the entire shed with harsh, glaring light.  
  
Max turned on him, furious. "Idiot!! Shut that off! You act like you _want_ to get caught!"  
  
"Sorry!" Quickly the young pilot flicked the switch to off, as the darkness surrounded the pair once more. "How are we supposed to see then?"  
  
"Relax" The dog fumbled in his pocket for a moment before taking out a small flashlight. "And make sure you keep it down! You may have your little guilt trips, but I sure don't wanna be drummed outta here on account of your carelessness!"  
  
Opening his mouth to retort, the bear yelped in pain instead as he stubbed his toe on one of the many crates stored here for the drop the next day.  
  
"Oh for hell's.....just sit over there until I can open up one of these things. Jeez, do I hafta baby sit ya?  
  
Kit glared furiously at the dog while Max fumbled around with his tiny flashlight, struggling to hold the light and open the tightly sealed crate at the same time.  
  
"Hey, c'mere. Make yourself useful and hold this"  
  
Kit, now too excited to answer back with any type of smart remark, held the flashlight over the top of the dog and the smaller crate which stubbornly remained nailed shut.  
  
"Need a little help there, _Max_?"  
  
"Oh shut up, if you think you can do any better....." A loud cracking interrupted the young man as the top suddenly gave way noisily.  
  
With a painful sounding ummph, Max fell over, still holding the lid and blinked. Kit, not bothering to wait for his fellow conspirator, tossed aside the burlap covering to inspect the contents.  
  
"What the....."  
  
Max quickly joined the young bear, staring over the crate with an incredulous expression.  
  
"Well I'll be.....I thought I was confused before."  
  
"It's nothing but....well, like you said, flour, sugar, food supplies. What is this!!?" Kit was beyond feeling exasperated. He had been expecting, um....he really didn't know what he was expecting. Certainly not this.  
  
"This, Cloudkicker, is exactly what should be in here"  
  
"Do you think they're all like that?"  
  
"Considerin' that these are some of the newest additions to our lovely cargo, I'm guessin', um...yeah"  
  
"But, that doesn't make sense!!" Frustrated, Kit flung his hat on the dusty ground as Max looked on with a tolerantly amused expression.  
  
"Temper, temper. I would think you'd be glad"  
  
"No! Why?! Why would we be deliverin' all of this stuff to the same spot? I mean, how much can one small area need? This needs to be somewhere else, _anywhere_ else! It's just....aw...I don't know what the hell it is."  
  
Max began chuckling, quietly at first, then louder and louder. Kit couldn't quite see the humor of the situation. He had been ready to charge into battle if he found contraband, or at least found out that they were delivering something illegal. He was now simply more confused than ever.  
  
"Better clean this up, Max" The bear growled angrily as he stomped out of the shed, breathing hard.  
  
"Aw come on Kit.....learn to relax. It's just a job...an' it's just cargo!!"  
  
The dog called out after the younger pilot, obviously forgetting his former instructions regarding getting caught.  
  
Kit no longer wanted to return to the barracks. He was infuriated, and the fact that he had no reason to be only made it worse. Nobody cared, it was a just a big joke, or all fun and games. Well, it wasn't to him. He had come here to make a difference. And somehow or another he would.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
War does not ennoble men. It makes them dogs.- The Thin Red Line  
  
April 4, 1918  
  
What had once stood supreme was now ravaged beyond recognition. Blackened, broken, dead. The forest seemed a bleak symbol of the war, the men who fought it....and Eric's ideals.  
  
Destroyed, reduced to kindling. It was to this land, this foreign place that he had sacrificed his youth, his peace of mind....his future to.  
  
The barb-wire and holes filled with memories....terrible images from which there could be no reconciliation.  
  
Eric could see them, wave after wave, each pointing, accusing. The fact that he had made it this far was a miracle, but Eric felt no joy....and even less gratitude.  
  
The prevailing sense of guilt would not leave him, it would not let him carry on. He had made it, there was still a chance of his surviving another year of this chaos.  
  
Another year.....with the countless hordes who were gone, with all who would never again see their homes, their country.  
  
With these countless rows of white crosses....each a different dream, different love, different reason to stay, to go on.  
  
He alone, remained. Eric felt betrayed. Betrayed by everyone and everything he had once believed in, by his family with their starry-eyed sacrifice and resignation as they fed him to the wolves.  
  
By his friends, who could never have known how lonely the young soldier could be, how hollow he felt with his new-found bitterness, without them to share it with.  
  
They could never have known......it was now certain that they never would.  
  
But most of all, he felt betrayed by the deep-rooted sense that,somehow, it had all been worth it, by the idealism that had weakened and died more painfully and surely than any other casualty that had occurred here.  
  
He had been used by the cold-hearted bastards who had been content to sit idlly by and allow this waste...this incredible loss of innocence and life and lie to those who suffered, lie to their enemies, lie to their allies....lie to everyone, especially themselves, and expect to never have to face the consequences.  
  
He had trusted them, fought for them, if necessary died for them....and it had all been for nothing.  
  
The empty, shattered men that all of this deceit and hatred could never heal again. Those would would never again awaken to the same world, changed forever through fire and pain.  
  
The callous brutality that existed here, the discontent, the fury at having lost so much to those who cared little, if not at all....and certainly could have prevented even less.  
  
It would all give birth to something ultimately more terrible. And Eric would be ready.  
  
Never again would he sit blindly by and accept other's word for law. Never again.....  
  
If he had to become what he despised and wished to destroy, so be it. He would never again allow his actions to be dictated by such weak and frivolous emotions as love, pity or kindness.  
  
He knew where they led.....and here he was in this cesspool as a result. If the war had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that only the ruthless, the hard are able to survive unscathed.  
  
Pity those poor fools who had yet to learn this lesson, now, tomorrow....forever.  
  
Eric could no longer allow the pain around him to have any affect. He didn't trust himself to care. Nothing changes. Not life, not people, not war...nothing.  
  
The young soldier felt an empty victory. The terrible price he had and would pay for his knowledge, his hardened soul.  
  
Feeling a sharp pain in his hand, Eric looked down, surprised to see several reddened crescent marks....blood drawn to the surface on the palm of his hand.  
  
The forest remained silent, the ash-streaked stumps revealing nothing but sad memories of what had existed before.....and what existed now.  
  
Eric's new division, hell....he'd lost count as to how many he had gone through, was silent, exhausted having slept, fought, ate....and gone into battle as a unit. The last being the final thing.  
  
Dirty, disheveled faces full of fear and haunted by far-off ghosts. *Poor lads* the racoon could not have realized his resemblance to them.  
  
The soldier beside Eric was sick. The racoon didn't bother to look at him to know. He didn't know the boy anyway, didn't care.  
  
The other individual's hacking cough made the pressing silence all the more nerve-racking by comparison, his eyes were full of mute suffering, his face was a ghastly white, the eyes, nose, and mouth a vivid, uncomfortable shade of red.  
  
Staring at the opposite wall of the trench, dirt, cracked bits of wood protruding awkwardly from the man-made shelter, Eric unconsciously placed a hand on the arm of the bony, shivering young soldier.  
  
He, in turn, relaxed his shoulders temporarily before another painful round of coughing doubled him over.  
  
The racoon squeezed the other's shoulder and the young man glanced at Eric in gratitude. Eric wasn't looking, his eyes were averted, his young face with it's pinched expression seemed thousands of miles away, his thoughts in actuality were even farther.  
  
Strange, a guesture of compassion.....one that Eric this day or in the years to come would never remember doing.  
  
The sun sank slowly, it's departure bringing a dazzling array of color, but no warmth to the damp, chilled earth the division remained huddled in.  
  
Each shared the other's discomfort, there were few boundaries here.  
  
"Hey...." a whisper carried through the darkness. The owner of the voice was safely anonymous in the shadows.  
  
"Go to sleep" another voice, harsh and edgy, barked out.  
  
Silence. It came again. "Hey....you chaps scared?"  
  
Scared? What was fear to Eric now? He'd faced things that could never be given a rightful name and stood strong. His only fear came from looking into the deep abyss of his memories, his resentment....his darkest emotions.  
  
"Nah......war'll be over afore they be sendin' us in again...."  
  
The war will be over, Eric had heard that one before. Fools.  
  
"Heard the Sarge talkin'.....sounded just like a scared kid. Somethin' about a huge Alemanian offensive...."  
  
"Hush up! Do you see any shells? I don't hear any kind of dust-up comin' from their trenches, for pity's sake let it be. Whelps, all of ya, with that type 'o thinkin'"  
  
Each voice belonged to someone, yet became a seperate entity in the oppressiveness darkness.  
  
"All I'm sayin' lads is that this is what I heard from the top. Something's comin'. Could even be a breakthrough somewhere."  
  
More rumors, more lies, more ignorance. How many lessons before they learned?  
  
"Get some rest!" Another voice, a sterner order.  
  
If there was to be another offensive, the Alemanians were downright crazy for trying it.  
  
Guess they'd never learn either. And the possibility of a breakthrough was slim, if not completely impossible. They'd never learn, even if Eric had....each terrible time. And he didn't forget.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Through a badly-lit hallway, it's floor smelling of wax and polish, past an unmarked door, inside a dim office that had always and would always remain stark, spartan and spotless, Eric Baggett sat, his desk empty of the usual files, folders and excess papers.  
  
It shone with good old-fashioned elbow grease.  
  
Eric didn't like dirt and disorder. He liked systems, cold and exact. He'd lived in filth and squalor far too long for it not to have had some kind of lasting affect.  
  
The sun had already set, the young crew should be coming back from their drop......  
  
Perhaps at one time, far away and long since forgotten....in the seperate world that Eric associated with his past, he would have gladly participated in such weak, soft emotions as guilt or compassion.  
  
He wasn't stupid surely. He knew what war was....and what it did. He _knew_ people were starving! Didn't he know what it was like to go hungry? Didn't he?!  
  
It was all part of the experience. War destroys.....and any sap who believed they could escape from the black hole of hunger and desolation that would gradually pull all of these people in, would be forced to learn a painful lesson soon enough.  
  
The sooner they learned, the easier it would be for them to forget that there had once been a time when things had been different.  
  
They were all changed now, all of them. And nothing, in turn, could change that. There was no pity for those who looked back.  
  
All had to suffer at some time or another. All, that is, except the rich. The one's smart enough to horde their assets for a time such as this.  
  
And his contacts knew just where the market was for the huge amount of supplies that came through.  
  
They paid well, all of the participants in this little circle, and they were also aptly rewarded.  
  
The ones above him, who looked the other way as long as an occassional bottle of wine or other such fine, expensive, hard to come by item unavoidably came their way.  
  
Eric practically reigned supreme over his small existence. Whatever he said was heard and nearly always his every order was followed to the letter.  
  
By the stars it felt wonderful to no longer have to answer to someone. He ran things, and was getting rather rich besides.  
  
It _was_ the rich who made it in this world, they were the one's who really knew how to survive.  
  
Another lesson learned from the past. The racoon made it a point not to forget.  
  
Every dollar, his growing power....both were like balm to his bitterness, almost like a material apology for everything that had happened to him, for all he had been forced to miss out on during his life.  
  
A wife, children...a family. His sweetheart.....astounding that even now he couldn't think of her without pain.  
  
But that weak emotion was quickly pushed aside by the Lieutenant. There was no room for it here.  
  
And with time all of these boys, these chaps whose actions didn't have to be dictated by fate, would learn all that they needed to know.  
  
All of them.....even the one's who still foolishly clung to their ideals, their high-mindedness.  
  
Bloody whelps, believing they could change the world themselves.  
  
It was a sad thing how quickly and easily such good intentions died.  
  
Eric felt rather content tonight, in spite of it all. By the time the war ended he would be a very wealthy man. And his market could only expand when Alemany was divided up like a roast at supper.  
  
The Alemanians....speaking of those who would never learn....  
  
He didn't even have to request information anymore concerning where the supplies should be dropped off, then sold to the highest bidder. One less hassle, one less obstacle....it was almost frightening how easy it all was becoming.  
  
Hunger and cold made for good business, and even the most tight-fisted skin- flint would gladly open his wallet for a simple piece of bread.  
  
No one asked questions, everyone seemed content to let the others do their own thing.  
  
Life was becoming a pleasant routine. And Eric's bank accounts were quickly growing with every drop made.  
  
Life was good. He didn't care about the ones who couldn't afford to feed their children, he didn't care about the stories he'd heard of exactly what the Alemanians had done in many of these countries.  
  
He would never again have a reason to believe anything like that. Lies, fabrications. He didn't care. Period.  
  
The doorknob winked at him across the darkened room. ~*Never be clean....never*~  
  
Shaking off the recollection viciously the racoon flicked a piece of imagined dust from the surface of the immaculate desk.  
  
He _was_ clean. There was order all around him and he was in control and comfortable. And he didn't care, no matter the memories....no matter the accusations. He _did not_ care.  
  
The doorknob turned suddenly. The door opened with a great deal of energy. A flushed young bear came tromping in, uninvited.  
  
There were circles under his eyes, all the more noticable when one could see the strong, harsh light in the former navigator's gaze.  
  
Kit Cloudkicker stood over the desk, chest heaving, fists clenched.  
  
For one eerie moment Eric was taken back. How many young men had he seen just like this?  
  
Young, idealistic, full of fire and possessed of a knowledge that they actually had the ability to change the suffering they saw all around them.  
  
Idealism had no place in a war....._any_ war.  
  
And Eric had seen hundreds like Kit fade away with senseless, overwhelming rapidness.  
  
"Kit?!" Blinking his eyes quickly, fighting the unwelcome flashback, the Lieutenant watched Kit in surprise.  
  
"What can I do fo-"  
  
"I have to ask you something" The statement was harsh and angry.  
  
Eric narrowed his eyes, irritated at being interrupted.  
  
"All right. Ask."  
  
"Just....well, sir..."  
  
Folding his arms on the table Eric looked on as Kit struggled to find the right words for his emotions.  
  
"You want to know what's going on...for the twentieth time"  
  
Not answering, Kit instead nodded his head, his eyes still full of anger.  
  
"Why son? What difference would it make? You're here to fly this stuff out...be grateful your neck's not on the line like some o' those other poor blokes that get shot down every day"  
  
"That is _not_ the only reason why I'm here!" Kit blurted out, another wave of fury hitting him full-force.  
  
"Then why are you? You got nowhere else to be? Maybe you should just pack it in and head home...don't you know the news lad? War's almost over" Eric laughed unpleasantly. It sent cold chills down Kit's back.  
  
"War's almost been over for five damn years now....oh, but I believe it, absolutely"  
  
Kit was taken aback for a moment. "But...but I don't want to be sent home! You're kicking me out for asking a simple question?"  
  
"I didn't say that, but it's pretty obvious that you're not happy. And there's no place for trouble-makers here. If you can't do your job and be satisfied then I suggest you get out..."  
  
Eric returned his attention to his desk, still very much aware of the young man in front of him struggling to keep control of his emotions.  
  
"I think you're hiding something." The expression on the young pilot's face was twisted in anger.  
  
"You're probably right....but it's not your place to be sayin' anything, is it? Go ahead, make your decision....stay or leave, really doesn't matter.  
  
Doesn't matter. Kit felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut.  
  
"Where do you get off being so condenscending? Don't you care about anything? People are starving......some are dying. And you act like this is just business as usual. I thought we were supposed to be helping!!"  
  
Kit's voice was by now a rather tactless yell.  
  
Eric finally met his gaze again. His eyes were like ice, beyond them there was nothing......  
  
Involuntarily Kit took a step back.  
  
"Cloudkicker, whether or not you believe it, I'm actually doin' you a favor....learn from this. Don't be forgettin' it. You are hereby dismissed. Pack up your things. Safe journey"  
  
Kit felt sickened. Blind apathy.....it frightened him. It was all it took to help him make up his mind.  
  
"This isn't over...."  
  
"Idle threats. There are some things you don't understand lad."  
  
"I suppose you do?!"  
  
Again, that frigid stare that almost knocked Kit over.  
  
"Hope you never have to find out boy."  
  
The whole time, the racoon's voice had never gone up a decibal. His calm, icy exterior completely infuriated Kit. And he was intimidating. The young pilot readily admitted it. Something about him.....  
  
But that wasn't going to stop Kit now. He simply had one more reason to do what he'd planned. With a little help he could show this cold, emotion-less individual that he was wrong.  
  
And the Lieutenant couldn't stop Kit. Not with his strange, choppy words, his dimissal or his precious well-laid plans.  
  
Being resourceful was something Kit had always excelled at.  
  
With a bone-jarring slam, the young bear was gone.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
"Tell me again why I'm helpin' you do this?"  
  
Kit grinned widely as Max heaved another crate into the small useful cargo hold of the Blue Eagle.  
  
"Oh come on. Haven't you ever wanted to show the big boys at the top that they can't boss us around forever?"  
  
The dog shook his head pessimistically. "That ain't why you're doin' this." Kit didn't trust himself to look at Max, who glared fearlessly at the pilot, eyes narrowed. "Y'know, if you wanna get the better of the Lieutenant, there are easier ways than getting shot out of the sky."  
  
"I'm just doing what I came here to do." The young pilot's mumbled answer wasn't exactly satisfactory to his friend.  
  
"Yeah? An' what's that? Everybody's gonna think you're crazy. Are you just gonna tilt the plane and watch all of your precious cargo go spilling out? Good plan, that........I'll know who to thank when this war drags on for another year with a few more divisions of healthy, well-fed Alemanian troops."  
  
Kit frowned. He had a point....._again_ he had one. It was just downright irritating how right the dog could be sometimes.  
  
"Guess I'll have to land...."  
  
"Yeah, do you think it could be?" The sarcastic reply didn't faze Kit too much. If he didn't know any better he would almost think that the dog was....worried. His sharp replies were much worse today. The young bear couldn't help but be grateful.  
  
And despite all of Max's grumbling, here he was helping him do......well, whatever it was Kit decided to do.  
  
All four men in his unit now agreed that something really rotten was going on. Especially taking into account Kit's argument with Eric and his resulting dismissal. His friends were admittedly sorry to see him go.  
  
Kit had other plans.  
  
With a little bit of help. The others didn't understand Kit's reasoning behind his actions. It was just a job, and it was a sight better than being in military action, even when it was obvious who the victors of this mess would be.  
  
The former navigator knew that the others believed that he was only doing this to get back at Eric. To prove a point. Maybe he was.......but it wasn't the only reason.  
  
When the bear set out to do something, he did it. Period.  
  
He couldn't look himself in the mirror, or go back to Cape Suzette and face Baloo and Rebecca knowing he'd been party to someone else's suffering. It twisted his stomach horribly. He wanted to help these people.  
  
How and where was another story.  
  
Another individual joined the two, silently placing a few more crates in Kit's plane.  
  
Gary ran a hand over the side of the plane, looking on in admiration.  
  
"Too bad ya gotta fly 'er through that hell-hole to the east, Cloudkicker. She might get some pretty bad damage before you get where you're going. You remember exactly where it is _that_ you're goin?"  
  
"What do you know about it?" Max glared at the cat fiercely. "Are you his mother?"  
  
"I know that there's a refugee camp, big one in that direction. People from all over the place. Sad really, they're in pretty bad shape."  
  
Kit nodded. This wasn't breaking news. The discussion the four had had two nights ago had settled on a plan, even if the other three had repeatedly tried to talk the young pilot out of it.  
  
The bear had asked Gary to get some information, seeing as how the easy- going pilot could strike up a conversation with just about anybody, anwhere, about anything.  
  
The exact location of the camp was something his other friend was getting for him. Hopefully right at this moment. Max had walked out before the conversation had ended.  
  
"Think they can use this stuff?" The bear grinned at the other two again, feeling better than he had in weeks.  
  
The others simply stared at him. "You're crazy Kit. The routes we had were specifically designated to keep us from being shot to pieces. You don't know anything about what it's gonna take to get there!" Gary didn't have any new argument for the young pilot. Kit wasn't listening anyway.  
  
"Hope you're planning on leavin' soon. Nothing like flying through territory like what you're gonna be crossin' at night"  
  
"Ron should be here any time......" There was still no sign of the other crew member.  
  
"If he's smart he'll conveniently forget about getting you anything but a doctor to examine your head" Max snorted. Nobody had to tell him that what the younger pilot was doing was downright stupid. But if Kit insisted, then who was he to protest? The dog threw the last crate in forcefully. Stupid tenderfoot......  
  
"I got it!" A tall yet heavily built lynx can running up to the other three. Kit rushed over to his friend.  
  
"Okay, this has got everything you need to get there......" Ron hesitated.  
  
"But?" Max prompted, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Not exactly the easiest route.....in fact, I don't envy you Kit. I know bombers who have got it easier than this...."  
  
"You're kidding" Gary grabbed the map out of the lynx's hand viciously before Kit could take a look.  
  
A low whistle contrasted with the silence. The cat looked at Kit almost contemptiously.  
  
"All right Cloudkicker. Go home.....forget your save the world tendencies and go home......right now. I don't think you're suicidal...."  
  
"Gimme that!" Kit stared at the coordinates, then the map, but mostly at the large patches of red that indicated airspace still forcefully held by the Alemanians. He would have to fly about a third of the run through just such an environment.  
  
A low voice directly behind him startled the bear back to reality.  
  
"Y'know the average bomber in the middle of all of this crap was given around six weeks before he was shot down, probably killed. And here you wanna go and play Santa Clause when it's not even your job anymore! An' so help me if you give me any of your 'it's all worth it' garbage, I'm unloading all of this stuff, turning you in and making sure you get the hell outta here before you have another chance to try and get yourself blown out of existence."  
  
"Thanks for your help guys" Kit didn't answer Max. He didn't know exactly what he'd say. He wasn't able to explain why he felt he had to do this, no matter the risk. Risks were nothing fun, true. But the alternative was ten times worse in the young pilot's mind.  
  
Max clapped Kit on the shoulder before turning his eyes to his fellow crew members.  
  
"I hope you gents have figured out what you're gonna tell Eric about some, um...missing cargo? He ain't gonna be happy"  
  
"We'll think of something." Gary glared back at the dog. The two had never really liked each other.  
  
"Least he thinks I've already gone." Kit turned around one last time before climbing into the cockpit. "Later guys!"  
  
"You're nuts Cloudkicker!!" Max yelled one more time for emphasis before the three stepped away to let the Blue Eagle take off.  
  
The remaining members of the unit, quiet and serious, stared at the slowly vanishing plane.  
  
"So....who wants to be the one to tell his family?"  
  
Neither Gary nor Ron could answer.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
April 11, 1945  
  
The smooth music drifted out of one corner of the open, sunny bar. Tiki masks on the walls, rickety architecture. Man...it was beautiful.  
  
At least that was what Baloo thought as he leaned back in his chair, letting the warm, tropical breeze brush over him, welcoming him back, always.  
  
Louie's helpers, (were they the same ones? The large bear didn't recall the orangutan ever hiring anyone new) were wiping tables, conveniently ignoring the pilot who had gradually become part of the atmosphere here in the club.  
  
Baloo took a sip of his drink, things were almost perfect. Almost......  
  
Except he was alone. Several months, quite a few letters from the boy, but it had still been several months since Baloo had last seen him.  
  
It frightened the big pilot, how much he depended on Kit. He missed the kid so much it felt like a hole had been ripped in him. And despite everything, he worried. Night and day. He just couldn't help it, even though he know what his former navigator would say if he had any idea.  
  
Baloo didn't care, as long as he could see the boy again. The large bear still stubbornly refused to think of Kit as anything else but a kid. Made him feel less old.  
  
Chuckling, the bear put his arms behind his head. As soon as this blasted war was over. Guess he should have been grateful. He'd knew people.....and Rebecca had friends who had lost someone. Terrible.  
  
But Kit had been right. And Baloo could see it. It wasn't like before. It was worse.  
  
He was very lucky. Very lucky......  
  
"Hey Fuzzy, dont'cha got anything better ta do than hang around here? Should start chargin' ya rent."  
  
"Hey Louie" The bear grinned at his oldest friend's good natured teasing. "How're things?"  
  
"Same old....can't complain" The red ape hopped lithely over the bar and plopped his regular hat on his head.  
  
"Nothing new to tell?" Baloo looked directly at the bartender, not quite able to keep the tell-tale smirk off of his face.  
  
Silence. Louie had never been very good at effectively ignoring the pilot. "She's fine too.....jeez, can't a joe get any privacy 'round here?!" Glaring with mock ferocity, the orangutan turned his back on the gray bear, who began laughing uproariously.  
  
"Ohhhh, _she's_ fine too? And in just what way?"  
  
"Put a sock in it, Baloo. Just wait 'till you get bitten"  
  
Throwing his head back the bear slapped the bar with one hand. "Still waitin' Inn-keeper. Besides, after watchin' you think I'd be better off stearing clear of anything like that."  
  
"Your loss, cuz. Your loss. How's shortstop?"  
  
"Sounded fine in his last letter. Been keepin' his nose clean." Baloo grinned widely, always ready to talk about his favorite subject.  
  
"Yeah, he's a good kid. Hell of a mess they got goin' on. Papers are sayin' it should be straightenin' itself out in no time."  
  
"Can't come soon enough pal. Heard a lot of stuff. Sad, real sad."  
  
An uncharacteristic expression of seriousness crossed the large bear's face. Louie didn't need to be reminded. He knew exactly what the pilot was talking about.  
  
"Could be worse, Big Daddy"  
  
"Could always be worse. Only good thing is that when it's over Kit'll be comin' home."  
  
"An' doin' what? Surprised that kid hasn't got himself a girl right here waitin' for him"  
  
"It's not like he hasn't had the chance Louie" Baloo glared, ready to defend his son even against his oldest friend.  
  
"Easy! Simmer down, that ain't what I meant."  
  
"Yeah, I know...." The bear looked down at the bar, the silence saying more than the two friends ever could.  
  
Louie, true to form, understood exactly what Baloo mean, or rather, how he felt concerning the kid. "Guess it's gotcha worried, huh?"  
  
"You guessed right" The pilot didn't look up, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
"No worries, Baloo. Kit's sharp as a tack. He knows how to keep himself outta trouble."  
  
"Can't help it,buddy. All comes with the territory. Guess I won't be myself until he gets back here safe an' sound"  
  
The radio crackled suddenly, startling the two. "Hold that thought, Baloo"  
  
Louie flipped the switch. "Louie's place, you know the drill"  
  
"Louie.....where's Baloo? I need to talk to him. It's urgent so for pity's sake don't give me any of your excuses!!"  
  
The two friends looked at each other in surprise.  
  
"He's right here Rebecca"  
  
The bartender handed the mike over with some apprehension. The near desperate tone in the woman's voice brought all activity in the large room to a screeching halt.  
  
Baloo suddenly didn't feel very well. More than just a bad feeling, there came a terrible certainty that something was very wrong.  
  
"Becky....it's Kit isn't it?" No other words were spoken. There would only be one reason Rebecca would sound like that, and he certainly knew that Molly wasn't in the same situation as the other individual who had so much power over the businesslady's emotions.  
  
The woman's voice was so shaky, she sounded as if she would break into tears at any time. "I think you need to see this....."  
  
To be continued..... 


	2. Chapter 2

"Sphere of Influence" E-Mail: Alyson Terry Copyright. The Walt Disney Corporation, 1990-91. TaleSpin and all of it's characters are the property of the Walt Disney Company and I'm sure if one of the brilliant creators of the greatest cartoon series of all time were to read this they would curse me and my disillusioned brain for mutating their beloved creation in so abstract a way. Oh well, artistic interpretation, get over it. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ Adieu, life Adieu, love, Adieu, all the women It's all over It's for good This ghastly war. At Craonne On the plateau We had to lose our hides Because we are condemned We are the sacrificed. -Song of Craonne Author's Note- *Certain aspects of SOI- Pt. 2 are the property of Dan Green, and are taken from his phenomenal fic, "The Bonds of Earth", the biggest, (apart from the actual historical events that I drew upon for this) inspiration for this fic. All are used with his permission and with my full and utmost gratitude.  
  
September 29, 1916 Like a warm familiar touch, the soft lights called out to Eric. The houses were small, some had walls that were blackened, others had the markings of artillery and shells.....unintentional targets from the apathy of two years of destruction. But the town was peaceful, quiet, the dusk that enveloped it speaking of years past, of laughter, joy and memories. It tugged at the young soldier, this small, sacred reminder of a better life, with each lit window telling a different story, contrasting strangely with the darkened panes that were located so close by. Dark and empty. The racoon blinked but could not take his eyes off of them. How could such a simple thing affect him so deeply? It never used to matter. Another reminder, chilling and bleak. All that had transpired, all that had disappeared and what now remained to take it's place. Eric rubbed his arms reflexively as the brisk autumn wind gusted dry leaves and dust all around him, spoiling his plaintative mood and more so this magical atmosphere that had held him for one blessed moment. Quickly, so quickly.....it was gone. Incredible the sadness that plagued the soldier day and night. He fought it ruthlessly, covering it with a blanket of anger and seemingly casual indifference. But it always lay in wait, tormenting him......it wouldn't release him. Maybe......he cared and thought too much. He didn't know Perhaps his sensitive nature had seen, would continue to experience and it would not forget. Try as he might to remain cold and unmoved to the shattering events around him, it remained. Eric clutched his leave papers tightly in one hand as another strong breeze billowed around him. Disheartened, the racoon let his gaze fall on the cafe's door. His first leave, his first visit to one of the many surrounding villages that had amazingly remained intact with all of the chaos of the past few years. He knew what lay inside, but the youthful enthusiasm that was once a standard trait within his persona was absent, leaving only the crushing sadness, Eric's surrender to the dominating emotion and the questioning, drifting sense of hopelessness, theawkward sense that things would remain this way with no reprieve and no rest. His to keep when all he had really wanted was something better. The door swung open easily. The cafe was nearly empty. An owl sat behind what passed as a bar, reading a tattered paper and pushing a rather worn pair of spectacles back into place, a losing battle as the objects seemed bound and determined to disturb his endeavors. Eric felt increasingly uneasy, small and out of place. He made his way to the bar slowly. The few occupants sitting randomly throughout the room shot the soldier a simultaneous look of hostility and anger. Eric reacted to it in spite of himself. It was confusing to him. Why these feelings of mistrust and fear? And why him? He wasn't their enemy. He didn't even know them. He was........unwelcome. Any sign, any aspect, any reminder of this painful and useless conflict. Unwelcome. Eric felt trapped, pushed into a position that he had stupidly entered voluntarily and now seeing no way to escape the farther down he went. These people. What did they know? Their discomfort and fleeting moments of anguish and confusion were nothing in comparison to his own. Or to the boys he'd had the misfortune to serve with, the ones he had seen fall. He still felt guilty. It created a rift inside of him. He almost felt as if he had.....failed all of them. How could he possibly help them when he could no longer help himself? The atmosphere was tense, Eric could feel his nerves already stretched far past what was comfortable. They were fast approaching breaking point. The hard glint in these individuals' eyes put the soldier on the defensive. The owl slightly averted his gaze as Eric clumsily, noisily clambered onto a bar stool. Several snickers behind him brought his awkwardness back full force. "What'll it be for this fine representative of our fighting forces?" The owl sneered, his formal words and forceful declaration causing Eric to fidget. _This_ was leave?! This was what was so desired? So coveted? Desired by all others perhaps, but certainly not by him. Problem was.....he had nowhere else to go, the barriers between him and the blind apathy in these people's stance stronger and more effective than the barbed wire and shell-marked landscape that he knew so well. That tiny fraction of land he dreaded, yet fought for. The racoon studied his hands with the greatest of care. He mumbled something unintelligible as the owl noisily folded his paper, purposely drowning out the soldier's words. More snickers, another hard, demeaning stare. "What was that? Didn't hear you boy" Eric scowled darkly, understanding the words perfectly although the language was not his own. His eyes turned to dangerous slits, a warning not even he was aware of. Silence. The owl took a step back and motioned to the few others, his words still directed towards the racoon. "Surprised they let carrion such as you out. Can't stand to even keep them in those mud-pits where they belong." Another slight motion towards Eric. The soldier felt rooted to the spot. The others continued to laugh and listen with rapt attention. Eric felt his temper boil over. All he had wanted was some small form of release. He faced death on a daily basis and.....for what? For these people?! Were they all like this? Everywhere? Would it always be like this?! Didn't anyone care what was happening? It was for them, for their children, for their pathetic excuses for homes and lives, and for everything they had etched out an existence for! Facing the gas, the bombardments, the constant shelling, the horrors......night after night. Couldn't they see what him and men like him were doing? What was it all for?! The red haze that had completely penetrated the racoon's mind slowly, so slowly, faded away. With a jerk of surprise Eric released the front of the bartender's shirt. He swallowed painfully, his throat raw from yelling, screaming question after question. Not a sound could be heard, merely the soldier's own ragged breathing. The people in the cramped room looked at Eric in disgust, fear......and the most terrible of all, pity. He could take their hate, never, never would he allow their pity. Feeling like a caged animal, the racoon bumped into a few chairs, knocking them over and falling to the floor as he attempted to retreat. A loud roar of laughter filled Eric's ears. Frantic, he attempted to pull himself up. He just wanted to leave this place, to leave it all. The owl slapped his hand against the smooth surface in front of him loudly, all of his previous apprehension apparently gone as he held his sides. So many voices surrounded the young soldier as he bolted for the door. "Go back to the rock you crawled out from under!" "We don't want you here!" "Disturbing our peace......Great War.....where's your Great War now?" "Won't catch me on the front.....I've got medical leave....didn't pass the examination" "Poor, ignorant......" On and on, more insults, more callous remarks. Eric's mind whirled as he pushed the door open and charged out into the cold night. He only stopped when he reached the farthest house. Placing his hands on his knees the racoon struggled to catch his breath. This wasn't the tearful, noble sense of sacrifice that he'd felt and smirked at, at home. These people saw him only as a reminder of this pointless, continuing turmoil and their mocking voices stood as testimony to the harsh indifference and blunt frustration all felt towards this bloody stalemate. The feeling of betrayal, of gut-wrenching fury, a seed already planted so deep inside of the soldier began to blossom and grow. Someday..... Someday he'd see the day when all of these people and everyone like them would have _their_ lives and future controlled by what lay around them....even more so than it did now. Someday none of them would be able to escape from the situations he knew on an hourly basis. Call it premonition. He knew it. Eric threw his leave papers on the darkened ground with all of his might before sinking to his knees. He certainly wouldn't be needing those anymore. He couldn't go back, and he felt as though he couldn't face the terror that lay ahead. He was trapped and it could only mean one thing, for the survivial of his soul. He retreated back into himself. The price...... Eric didn't know if he would ever feel safe enough to come back out again. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ April 12, 1945 The deafeaning roar had gradually subsided to a barely perceptible background noise in the young pilot's ears. Kit knew that he'd hit his head. How badly he couldn't say, but if the throbbing, agonizing pain was anything to go by, the words, severe concussion, could be aptly applied. The young man's back hurt terribly, he felt as though there were iron bands around his chest, impeding his ability to breath normally, and whenever he was foolish enough to risk the discomfort and attempt it several sharp jabs of pain traveled down his side in succession. Cracked ribs probably. The former navigator had no idea where he was now. The overwhelming silence and impenetrable darkness merely added to his confusion. It hurt to move, blast it.......it hurt to _think_. Kit's head throbbed as he attempted to move his neck and check out his surroundings. The dull ache quickly escalated to blinding pain and Kit gave up his efforts. He didn't even get a chance to fully open his eyes before he returned to unconsciousness, his mind unwittingly replaying the events that had brought him to this place only days before. Flashes of memory, that was all. Faces, hollow and despairing. Kit's heart had wrenched him as he looked at all of the close to abandoned children in the DP camps. They were the lucky ones. They were also alone, hungry and without any kind of help from the outside. No one was left to care for them or to care about anything regarding their future. The former navigator knew how they felt. But he did care......and he did choose to reach outside of himself and to lend a hand. Just as someone had done for him.......~ "Repeat, this is Kit Cloudkicker, Louie, that you?" The radio crackled in response before a jovial, familiar and certainly welcome voice was transmitted through. "Well howdy an' good evenin' to you, Short-stop! Must say I'm a bit glad to be hearin' from ya!" Kit smiled slightly, radio in hand. "Baloo's been worried, huh?" "Yeah kid, Fuzzy, Rebecca, and o' course there's no exceptin' me. Am I a fool for assumin' that you got a good story for turnin' more of Baloo's hair gray?" Kit smirked and waited for it. "Of course, don't take much to do that......." The ape laughed uproariously and Kit let his guard down, finally allowing the tension he'd experienced for the past few hours seep out of his body. "Engine trouble, right after I got out of Westcourt. I don't understand it, Eagle's never given me any grief before." Silence. The radio crackled to life. "Well, that's the way it goes some days. Plane's yer best friend one minute, then she'll up an' get tempermental, no reason for it. An' no use tryin' to figure out what went wrong neither. Sounds jus' like most of the gals 'ol Louie's met up with!" Again, loud chuckling accompanied the bartender's statement. Kit rolled his eyes before grinning once more. So much for Louie's and Baloo's attempts to correctly educate him about the opposite sex. Another crackle. "How 'bout you kid? Ya in one piece? Just so's I can prevent 'ol Papa Bear from having a heart attack." "Just a few bumps, Eagle's seen better days but I guess Baloo's training came in handy. She sure handled the um....landing well. Good thing the odds are in my favor when it comes to landing on water 'stead of land." Another chuckle came through. "I hear that Short-stop, better be guardin' those keys with your life as I'm suspectin' Baloo won't be too eager to let you try this again" Kit scowled at that. "Gotta learn somehow....." the former navigator muttered under his breath. The orangutan was frustratingly right. "So kiddo, I expectin' that you'll get another signal in just a few. Need a tow? Got any other excuses to hand yer pal afore I pass the word along?" "No, already contacted the Coast Guard, getting scarcer and scarcer out here though. And who knew that this blasted storm would last so long! Took me forever just to get any kind of a signal out" deep sigh came through, surprisingly clear. "Lucky you contacted anybody out there kid. An' here's us pullin' our hair out.....shoulda known you could handle whatever was thrown at ya." Kit smiled suddenly. "Well I'm okay. Like I said, Eagle's pretty banged up but she really came through in a pinch. And, I um, thanks for......y'know" Kit stammered, his hand holding the radio tightly. There was a slight pause. "Aw, that's jus' fine kiddo. That's what I'm here for. You take care. Glad to say I'll be seein' ya shortly." "Same here Louie, Cloudkicker over and out" Kit gently placed the radio back in it's usual position and lightly ran his hand over the panel. He shouldn't have been too upset. He'd been through dozens of crashes, many a great deal worse than this one. It had actually been minor, one of the engines had kicked out on him unexpectedly and he had eased her down in a less than inviting sea before the other could cause him some serious problems. New plane, he'd had it for awhile, but it could still be classified as such. Both him and Wildcat had barely gotten used to flying, not to mention maintaining her on a regular, almost daily basis. But this had been his first crash on a solo flight and despite the calm rationalization of events which the young pilot had no control over, Kit couldn't help kicking himself for what almost could count as a blunder in his otherwise flawless abilities. The young pilot began rubbing the top of his head wearily.....he now knew exactly what the consequences would be. He was grateful.....there was no mistaking that, but frustrated. Perhaps more than that. With a jerk of surprise Kit realized something and grimaced slightly as he turned his cap to face frontwards. Old habits......afew months since reaching this new level and he still couldn't break them. Kit let himself relax, nothing to do now but wait, shouldn't take long for help to arrive. Again he let one hand rest on the Eagle's panel. He could now understand Baloo's connection with the Sea Duck. It wasn't just the pilot's history with the plane, it was almost like an extension of one's self. The pride that came with his talent, and on the same token, the embarrassment, no, closer to hurt one felt when something happened, or when something went wrong. It was a reflection on him, his gifts. It was....well, his baby. The young man chuckled lightly before placing his hand behind his head and allowing his mind to wander. Kit had a strange feeling, almost a premonition. He couldn't explain it. Sometime he would have to ask Baloo what his feelings were the first time something like this had happened to him. Did he feel this uneasy? Or did he simply have enough confidence to shake it off and tell himself that such things were bound to happen and might happen again? With a deep sigh Kit leaned back, trying to let those kind of thoughts go, settling down as the small plane rocked gently with each wave. The young pilot leaned his head on one hand and turned his gaze to stare out of the window. Far, far off to where the dark storm clouds still thundered menacingly and bright streaks of lightning cut across the sky. It seemed so far away now..........it always looked better from farther away. Kit shook his head, bringing his attention back to the cockpit as the radio crackled suddenly. *Or maybe I just think too much....as usual.* With a flash of relief Kit heard another familar voice break the silence. "Kit? Sweetie are you all right?" Kit smiled broadly. "Sure Miz Cunningham, just a little engine trouble, got the cargo dropped off though..." "No cargo's worth taking too big of a risk for, you remember that young man. And I could care less anyway, it better had been the storm that kept us from hearing anything...otherwise..." "It was the storm, promise, already radioed in for a tow." Kit hastily replied, still grinning at the sharp tone in the businesslady's voice. It felt....welcome. Kit, unlike Baloo, enjoyed Rebecca's fussing over him. Speaking of that particular individual.... "Miz Cunningham?" Kit's tone was rather sheepish and he knew it. "He's right here. You're sure everything's fine dear?" Kit raised an eyebrow. *She must've been really worried.* Rebecca rarely used those kind of terms with him anymore. She had always been very perceptive to the former navigator's emotions and had gradually learned to speak to him as an adult. But Kit certainly didn't mind it at different times. Like now. "Sure Becky, safe an' sound. I-I'm sorry I scared you...." "Nonsense! I was just a little concerned, um...here he is Kit" The young bear heard the muffled sound of the radio exchanging hands as he himself fiddled with his own, waiting expectantly. "Li'l Britches?! What happened? Are you okay? Where are you? Do ya want me to take the Duck an'...." "Baloo!" Kit cut the well-meaning, if breathless and anxious interrogation, short. He was only worried....it was the first time this had happened to the young pilot on a solo flight. Kit slowly and carefully repeated what he'd said several times before. "I'm fine, the plane's fine, already radioed for help, I'll be there as soon as possible....please don't worry..." Silence. "Papa Bear?" Kit knew what was coming. "Maybe you tried this a little too early Kit-boy. I think we need to talk about....Hey! Gimme that back!!" Again, the former navigator raised an eyebrow as a harsh wave of static grated against his ears. More muffled sounds and Baloo's angry, "Who are _you_ to be tellin' me anythin' lady?! Just keep to yerself an'...." Another squeal. Kit gritted his teeth to keep from laughing. Why did Baloo always end up losing these battles? Especially when he towered over Rebecca. The young pilot snickered in spite of himself as more muffled but distinctedly irritated sounds managed to make themselves heard. Rebecca's voice, saccarinely sweet, came through once more. "Bye honey! We'll talk about this later....." A low grumble and a painful sounding yelp followed Rebecca's words. "And I do mean _later_" Kit grinned widely. Luckily he wouldn't have to face the music for at least a few hours. "Thanks Rebecca..." Kit paused, "I'll see ya, a-and I'm fine, promise!" Kit had to almost shout to be heard over the din of what was certain to be a battle royale between his boss and his surrogate father. "I'm still thinkin' he needs..." Click. Kit winced as the connection was cut off in the middle of Baloo's rather vocal protests. A few hours. Really didn't know if he could safely pick a side with this argument, or even attempt to try his coveted neutral ground. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Kit heard the radio crackle once more for good measure. Resisting the urge to toss it out of the window, the young man cautiously picked up the receiver. A loud, almost panicky voice filled the cockpit. "Blue Eagle...I have information regarding your request for assistance...." *What now?* "This is Kit Cloudkicker, I requested assistance. Is there a problem?" Background static was Kit's only reply before the voice came screeching through again. Grimacing, Kit adjusted the volume, barely making out what was being said until a few, poignant phrases finally penetrated. "Supply ship torpedoed not far from your current position. Alemanian U- boat was spotted as the cause but no pursuit has been formally organized. Delays from rescue efforts to help those who were on board, should take awhile. Was a pretty effective job. All of our efforts are focused on that currently, but we'll get there as soon as possible. Over and ou-" "Wait!!" Kit yelled frantically. "A-are there casualties?" The former navigator's knuckles were white. Kit didn't even notice the pains that shot through his hand from his death- grip. The voice answered back quietly, more subdued. "We don't have a count, this was a nasty one. Just seems to get worse every time. We'll put you on first priority though. Over and out." "That's okay...." Kit's voice echoed in the empty cockpit. He suddenly felt drained. There was no escape from it. This war. Every time he thought he could forget. The young pilot closed his eyes tightly. Ports where he couldn't land, cities still under occupation. Cities, hell...an entire continent. All of this happening, every day. Who knew what was going on before the Usland and Anglian divisions could arrange for an invasion? Even Cape Suzette wasn't safe. Kit rested his head on his hand. He prayed that the stories and rumors that managed to filter through weren't true. He'd almost welcome them as fabrications. And he couldn't help anybody it seemed. He wasn't wanted by the military. Kit balled his fists....for crying out loud, he was a _pilot_! And they still didn't want him!! He'd find a way though. All of the discouragement could only make him work harder.~ Kit gasped suddenly as the memory threatened to swallow him up. The pain, the darkness, along with his confusion had brought him to a state of near delirium. The faces again. He'd wanted to help them, they needed the food so desperately. And he had tried, but look where he was now! At least he had tried....but there were so many! It was like trying to clear a beach of it's sand using only a sieve. Impossible, self-defeating. Kit even questioned how he had felt giving those much needed supplies to those people. They had looked at him with something close to worship and it made Kit rather uncomfortable. He didn't appreciate the feelings of self-righteousness, but he'd basked in the praise. Another memory, almost a condemnation, punishment for his believing that he was above the cruelties of warfare, even with all of his good intentions. The sudden explosions, the shreaking and sickening sight of his destroyed engine and twisted metal hull. He knew what it was to experience the gut-wrenching terror of having water rush towards him with that kind of unnatural speed. Land, unfortunately, was just that much worse. He could feel the powerful heat, the pain that had just begun to torment his body and the dull rambling of unfamiliar voices. Where he was, how exactly it had happened and how he was now going to get out of this were all questions to be answered at a later time....but all had to be answered sooner or later. Kit tossed and turned, trying to get away from the burning heat inside of the cockpit, trying to escape his already well played out nightmare. He felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder, a soft voice spoke to him, almost drowned out by the much harsher voices barking out unintelligble phrases, close by. All managed to penetrate Kit's fever, his mental fog. He couldn't understand the words but he certainly understood the implications of the language. Alemanian. Gradually the harsh memory, the terror of being shot down, the horror of the crash, retreated to the back of Kit's mind.....and in the darkness of his sub-conscious, through the long, drawn-out process of healing, only one word seemed adequate enough to stay with the former navigator in sleep and in the long hours trying to wake. Trouble. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ Each looked at the other, each expected the other to say something, each looked almost comical with the various guestures and motions each kept making to prompt the others to step forward. But Eric wasn't in any mood to laugh. And Gary, Max and Ron were standing in front of the lieutenant's desk like naughty children about to recieve punishment. But none of them were willing to face up to anything. The elderly racoon looked at the trio and drummed his fingers, sooner or later, the constant, repetitive noise or his steely gaze would cause one of them to crack. His patience was wearing rather thin..... The lieutenant stared at each one of the young men as if he were analyzing them. Which he was. Gary and Ron, they both looked like the typical, naive young men who came over here looking for adventure. Eric wasn't interested in them. They would have gone along with Mr. Cloudkicker even if that individual had requested a trip to the moon. Yeah, like that would ever happen..... But the other, Max. The racoon looked at him sternly. The dog didn't look away. Eric didn't exactly like the expression on the young man's face. It was more than angry, it was very impudent, very upset. It was confrontational, directed towards him. "You....." Eric pointed at Gary, who jumped and shifted nervously. The racoon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Kit didn't say anything to you? About why the hell he decided to pull a trick like this? This would be earnin' him a solid court-martial if he was in the military. But that doesn't mean he's not in a great deal of trouble." The cat shifted uncomfortable. Finally, maybe he could extract some answers from the young man's guilt. Still nothing. The lieutenant sighed loudly and loudly slapped the palm of his hand against his desk, causing the jittery young men in his office to nearly go through the roof. Still silence. "You know what happened.......all of you?" Now there was a definite response. All three looked at the floor and nodded slowly. "You also know that I could press charges against all of you if you helped Mr. Cloudkicker take those supplies. 'Round here that's called _stealing_" Max looked at him furiously, his eyes spitting fire. An uncomfortable feeling settled in the small office. "You've got something to say, lad?" Ron placed a hand on Max's shoulder who shook it off angrily. "He didn't consider it stealing." The racoon folded his hands and placed them in plain view on his desk. He met the dog's gaze straight on. Surprisingly, Max took a step backward, not liking what he saw. "Then what did he consider it to be?" The question was soft, and completely unnerving. "H-he...he's just a stupid kid. He had all of these crazy ideas about helping people, saving the world. I think he read too many comic books when he was younger....." Eric didn't look convinced. He kept his pointed gaze right where it needed to be. "And you knew about this? So.....what should I tell his family?" Absolute silence. Max didn't back off from the challenge. The lieutenant finally hit a deep nerve. "You can tell them that because of the shoddy way you're runnin' this thing, Kit decided to go off and actually get something useful done, instead of usin' something like this for his own gain.....right Eric?" The dog glared fiercely at the officer, his hands making tight fists. Silence again, Gary looked wide-eyed at the racoon. A surge of fury hit Eric. But the elderly lieutenant hadn't survived in the situations he had for as long as he had without knowing how to think on his feet, or cover his own tracks. And this smart alec presented a problem to his security. "You two" The racoon motioned with one hand to Gary and Ron, who were already almost out of the door, "You are dismissed....pack up your bags, this operation is currently under suspension thanks to your little friend's stunt." The two were gone in a blink of an eye, more than glad for any excuse. Max continued to look at the lieutenant with contempt. "You can stay until we find Mr. Cloudkicker, if he's in one piece. If that 's the case, you can stand trial with him, since you're so concerned anyway. If not, you can still assist in tryin' to locate him,whether you like it or not." "You can't...." "I can and I am. You wanted to go along with this, then you should be followin' it through to the end. Congradulations......the war's almost over, and you still managed to get a piece of what everybody else has had for the past few years. Aren't we the lucky ones?" Max took one more step forward, then stopped. This was downright eerie......the coldness in the racoon's eyes, his office, everything about him. The dog hadn't noticed it before, but now...... It was too empty, it wasn't normal. Too clean, too extreme. It gave the young man the chills. Not an emotion that he necessarily wanted right now, especially in light of his guilt. Stupid kid.....he'd warned him. Dammit all if he always had to be the one responsible. Max felt something twist. Would Kit's dad feel like he himself had when he'd heard what had happened during the invasion of Lorraise? With his younger brother? Nobody should have that, not now, not ever. Max slammed the door as he stomped out of Eric's office. If he was lucky, he'd be able to share his assumptions, now pretty well-founded with the lieutenant's reaction, with someone who could do something. But first they needed to know for certain about Kit. War can't get over soon enough....... ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ Eric crumbled the condemning piece of paper harshly and threw it across the room. Why? What was _with_ this boy? Risking his neck like that.....for what? If the lieutenant had thought that the young pilot would actually go and do something as stupid as get himself shot down for....whatever it was that he'd been doing, then maybe he would have retreated himself, dropped his own personal operation. Now.....it seemed too late. He had been requested to contact Kit's family. He'd been putting it off for almost a day, until he could find out exactly what had happened. And now, his connections, often skittish, would think nothing of blowing the whistle on the lieutenant to save themselves. The heat was on him, and if they didn't find the kid before too long, who knew what would happen? The people he knew, the one's who had convinced him so easily to use his position and to use this operation for future financial security, could simply move on. That's what they did, there was always another place, more hungry mouths who would give everything they had for one small piece... And they knew where to find them. There was always something, somewhere. Technically, for job security, it couldn't be beat. People would be people, and there was always somebody else. But his time was seemingly over. There were too many eyes on the situation here for it to be safe or comfortable to continue. And Eric still had to try and explain what had happened to another young man's family. God, he hated it. He hadn't wanted the boy to get hurt.....if only he would have been content to walk away.... Eric didn't understand. What motives did he have? What had he possibly hoped to achieve? Surely nothing could affect someone this deeply? Well.....the boy had learned. And it was always the hard way. Another loss, another one to take his place. Eric had hoped that the war would end, and that all of this would be dissolved and he could go home in peace without having to face, or to really see, one more time..what it was that was going on out there. Never changes. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ April 14, 1945 Rebecca had been concentrating on her hands for quite some time. She didn't trust herself to look anywhere else, not out the window, not at the office and especially not at the individual who kept pacing back and forth in front of her desk. One piece of paper, it was incredible how just one piece of paper could bring so many lives to a grinding halt. Slowly the woman brought her head up. It had only been a few days since she'd received it in the mail. Every moment played itself out excruciatingly. The delivery, with an older rabbit muttering and shuffling through that bag of his. What a horrible job. The telegram, always dreaded. His eyes had seemed so sad as he gently pushed the damning piece of paper into Rebecca's trembling fingers. He tipped his hat and walked away, shaking his head.....not looking back. Rebecca had wanted to do a hundred things at once, or nothing at all. She could do neither, so she willed herself to open it. The businesslady had sat for who knew how long, just staring at Kit's graduation photo, at all of their faces. She had almost broke down. How foolish had she been to think Kit would be safe over there? Fighting or not....she should have demanded that he stay. Baloo...that's it, Baloo should not have let him go. That bear, only thinking of himself. Still...she didn't have the courage to open it. How stupid could she have been to think when once again she opened her heart, there wouldn't be a risk involved? She had forgotten......about the pain. Maybe if she'd been lucky enough to have more children....a son, it wouldn't hurt like this. Fate works in strange ways and she had been so very lucky, to have had the chance to protect two children, not only her own daughter but a wonderful young man like Kit. The paper was shaking violently. So was she but it didn't matter. She couldn't open it yet. Yes, Baloo shouldn't have let him go. It was _his_ fault. Or....or, they should have never given Kit any encouragement to leave. Maybe then he would have stayed. It was then _their_ fault. The telegram opened easily. Not as terrible as Rebecca had expected but still disturbing. Instead of a clean, painful wound, there was the worry that the words on that sheet of paper caused her. It guaranteed a slow, drawn-out process that would only heal with complete knowledge. Missing In Action. In the blink of an eye she now witnessed what had occurred less than a few hours later. She had read that paper once more in front of Baloo, who gripped the front of her desk until she feared he would leave permanent marks on it's surface. His eyes were terrible, the woman vaguely realized that she probably looked no better. The bear aged before her eyes when she read the few, stark statements; Circumstances still unclear, flying in enemy-occupied territory. Whereabouts and reasons, classified. Uncertain knowledge, no word, are now under assumption of.....The volunteer in the Usland Airlift Division missing in action. No former documents or investigation can be brought forward at this time due to the non-military nature of this organization... Rebecca had tried her best to explain the formal language to the pilot....Kit's father. Basically, no one knew what had happened, still didn't know. Baloo had taken the Duck out after, he was gone all night, coming back after Rebecca had made her daily arrival, with an empty tank in the plane and dark circles under his eyes. Rebecca felt her own tension threatening to pull her apart. She had been forced to somehow tell Molly, who had cried for hours as her mother had held her, as a result. And she had to try and comfort Baloo, who merely sat at the end of the pier, not responding but grateful to the lady. She could sense it. On top of that, she had to try and find out exactly who she could talk to, who would know anything. She had to be strong. She had to help Baloo, who was after all one of her closest friends, and try to tell him that it would be okay, and not to blame himself. It certainly wasn't easy to keep Baloo's feet planted until they could get something solid to go on. When he wasn't lost in himself he was almost impossible to reason with. But there wasn't anyone to comfort her when she felt like breaking down, when she was completely disheartened with phone call after phone call of dead ends. She was so tired now, as she sat at her desk, letting Baloo pace. Her business on hold, her explanations and rationalizations running out. Rebecca put her head down on her desk. Baloo stopped his hypnotic pacing and turned suddenly to stare out of the window. His voice cut through the silence. "When's this guy supposed to call us back?" His voice was low, shaky. Rebecca slowly brought her head up and pinched the brow of her nose. "You mean Mr. Baggett?" "Yeah...." Rebecca looked sharply at the large bear for a moment. "His name's Eric, he was Kit's supervisor" Was.....the woman nearly choked on that awful word. Baloo turned to meet her gaze. "I kinda have a bone ta pick with him." Rebecca stood up to put a hand on the pilot's shoulder. "Baloo...." Nothing. The bear lowered his head to stare at the floor. "You don't know what happened." She said softly. Finally, a response. "_I_ don't know?! Becky...nobody knows!! I wanna talk to this guy, let 'im know just what I think of him. How could this have happened?! For hell's sake this war should be over..an', an' this happens!! Why don't we know anything? I'm tellin' ya if all of this ain't his fault for lettin' Kit fly anywhere near that death trap then I don't know who's ta blame." Rebecca had slowly stepped back during the bear's tirade, until she had bumped against the desk sighing deeply. She hadn't exactly spoken to this individual either, but she had been promised that he would contact them, if only just to let them know about the details. The how's and why's that continued to torture the pair as they waited here. And he _would_ call. Rebecca could and had been very persistent. Baloo gripped the window sill tightly for a moment, his eyes far away as he stared out. Suddenly, he stomped over to the door noisily, startling Rebecca. "Just lemme know when he calls" he growled before slamming the door with a great deal of energy. Rebecca stared at the door for a time, not trusting herself to look elsewhere....especially not at that blasted phone. Of course Baloo wasn't in here waiting with her. He had to deal with the crushing grief and his consuming worry his own way. But she could have really used his support, at least his presence with her right now. Not that she was able to explain it. A flash of resentment, quickly replaced by guilt, on top of everything else made itself clearly felt. Rebecca rubbed her eyes as her vision blurred, tears forming suddenly and unexpectedly. No....she couldn't give in now, as much as she wanted to. She hated it but she had to be strong. She also found that she was much too keyed up for her own good as the phone rang and the businesslady nearly hit the ceiling. Almost taking the noisy thing out of it's socket in the wall, Rebecca picked up the reciever. A polite, almost distinguished voice with a slight, familiar accent came through. "Is this Higher for Hire? I was requested to call....." Rebecca cleared her throat before answering, embarrassed as her voice happened to be an octave higher than normal. "Is this Mr. Baggett?" The reply was affirmative. Rebecca, too tired to care about formalities came right to the point. "Kit....yes, I requested any information you might have. You were his supervisor?" Silence from the other end. Eric didn't rise to the obvious inquiry. Rebecca scowled slightly. She felt.....something. "Mrs. ...?" "Cunningham, and it's Ms." "Ms. Cunningham, you do know that Mr. Cloudkicker wasn't on a designated run when this accident occurred?" Rebecca gripped the phone tightly. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice short and snappish. She barely noticed when the door swung open and Baloo came tromping back in, stopping to rest his hands on the front of her desk. "I mean...well ma'am, we don't send our pilots into enemy airspace, as quickly as that may be shrinking." "But....I don't understand" Rebecca felt her composure quickly crumbling, she couldn't meet Baloo's gaze. What exactly was this man saying? "Mr. Cloudkicker, to the best of my knowledge, took supplies without permission and flew them to an unassigned area without any kind 'o clearance." Rebecca didn't like the man's tone. It was too close to...accusing. "Are you saying he took one of your planes and...." "No, no, nothin' like that. It was his own. We're certain. We received word that he simply dropped our supplies off at one of the larger DP camps located close by...an' well, to get there you have to fly through some rather nasty territory. He _did_ have his own plane though, the...er.." "Blue Eagle" Rebecca shut her eyes tightly. She felt Baloo's large hand on her shoulder, it was amazingly reassuring. "Yes, we haven't heard from him though. Merely some unacknowledged reports of a plane with a matchin' description goin' down in that area." Rebecca felt sick. And the feeling was quickly reaching it's peak as Eric continued to speak. "We've tried trackin' down the supplies he stole, haven't had much luck though..." That did it for the woman. This was absolutely crazy. "What?!!" Rebecca's temper snapped. She was ready to lash out, especially towards this unsympathetic man who should have called them from the very beginning to reassure them, or should at least have gotten some more information..._something_. She should not have had to make the effort to contact him. It shouldn't have been left up to her. What kind of organization.....? Before she could stop herself...before she wanted to, she heard her own voice in her ears, shrill and close to hysterical. "Why would he do that?! Why?!! I just don't understand, h-he left to....well, why?! He's not stupid, what on earth was he doing in that situation? Why did you allow it?! And why in heaven's name are you rattling on about supplies? What makes you think I'd actually care about that?! Do you think anything can justify what's happened? How can you steal something when it's your _job_ to give it to those..those people over there in the first place?!!" Baloo, by this time, had the receiver and Rebecca's hand gently in his own. He pried her fingers off of the much-abused phone and firmly sat Rebecca down. That lady was shaking with anger. Baloo held the receiver tightly. An awkward silence ensued. Finally, Eric cleared his throat. "Mr. Cloudkicker could be brought up on charges if he's found, he had been formally dismissed before the accident. I don't know if you had any idea" *Dismissed? _If_ he's found? Kit, charges?* Baloo couldn't find his voice for a moment. How could Kit be formally discharged anywhere? He was a hard worker, people liked having him around. Someone accusing Kit of anything negative seemed so absurd. The large pilot's mind was in a whirl, it didn't make sense, none of this made any sense. "Look, this boy, Mr.....um Baggett? He's my son. An' he's always been a good kid. There has to be some kind of misunderstandin'" "I'm sorry, I realize this is hard...." "No you don't!!" Baloo lost his temper suddenly. "You don't realize a damn thing! There's no way you can know what it's like, always wonderin', feeling sick thinkin' about exactly what could have happened...don't try an' tell me you have any idea..." The bear stopped to catch his breath. Rebecca, in spite of herself, watched with something close to eerie fascination. "He's _my_ kid, he's...h-he's my life. An' I hold you responsible. Expect to take this up with me as soon as I can get over to your precious little operation. An' believe me, when it's over you'll have a lot more to worry about than your damn supplies." The phone fell off of Rebecca's desk as Baloo slammed down the receiver with a vengeance. Silence as both looked at the pieces. A memory lifted the heavy mood for one moment. But it didn't allow Rebecca time to think of anything uplifting that she could say to the pilot. They were only words anyway. Baloo saved her the trouble. He looked at her suddenly and with a flash of insight, she knew exactly what he was thinking. Disturbing under any other circumstances, she stared back, saying nothing, but she understood. The large bear didn't even have to ask...but he did anyway. Years had fostered a respectful sort of courtesy within the pilot, especially where his boss was concerned. "Rebecca...uh, I really don't know how long...." "Go" the woman firmly placed her hands on the taller bear's shoulders and met his gaze one more time. "Find him...I don't care if it takes years. Just find him. I trust you, but...keep contacting me, please?" Baloo smiled, the first Rebecca had seen for some time. "Thanks Beckers, I won't let you down." "I know" the businesslady said simply, giving the gray bear a quick, fierce hug before pressing the Sea Duck's keys into one large hand. Baloo stepped back but kept his one hand on her shoulder. "Just when I think we're gettin' too old fer this" Rebecca gave a short laugh and rubbed her cheeks energetically with the back of her hand, those carefully concealed emotions finally showing themselves. "Never changes does it? Please be careful..." The pilot gave her a one-armed embrace before pulling the brim of his cap forward determinedly and stepping outside. Rebecca heard the Duck take off, as she had countless times before. She softly touched one of the photographs on her desk. Never changes. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^ February 7, 1917 "Incoming!!" The piercing yell caused an immediate, unprecedented commotion. Eric didn't have the opportunity to see who had given the call. He really didn't care. The frantic, scurrying could almost be classified as amusing under different circumstances. Eric felt himself being joustled and pushed harshly against the dirt wall. Panicking, pushing and swinging out blindly, the racoon made contact with several other wild-eyed soldiers, moments ago his friends, now mere obstacles in his path. All scrambled to get out of the way, a hard task as no one was certain where the attack was coming from, or what new sort of terror was about to come down on their heads. Certainly no one knew how to get out of it's way. Eric felt the mass of dirty, thin men push him against the crumbling wall of the trench. He was aware of a savage emotion that rose up, hand in hand with his need for self-preservation. If he fell, if this mindless mob came down on him, he would surely be trampled. Just another casualty of this cramped, debasing existence. He couldn't accept it, to be taken by the enemy was one thing, to be pushed aside, crushed without reason or remorse was thousands of times worse. He struck out again and again, pushing, elbowing, but still being moved with the group of disoriented, unnerved soldiers. An occasional grunt or yell of pain was Eric's only clue as to his progress.....or damage he was causing, depending. It could have been satisfactory, his only release and relief, escaping from this rabble, however superficially or fleeting his seperation from this place may be. Within the yells, the shuffling, the coughing and the curses, Eric suddenly heard a sound that he would never again forget. A low drone, unfamiliar. It was mechanical, certainly, but by God, it was coming from _above_ him! *H-How could that be?* Silence. Irrational yet incredible how quickly the unit quieted down. Once voice, alone yet so influential called out again. "Incoming! Incoming!! Watch yer heads lads, watch 'em!!" *Watch what?* A loud thunk nearly made the young soldier jump out of his skin. A large, rusty spike, now with only it's top showing had sunk deep, deep into the ground, mere inches from Eric's foot. Mad scrambling resumed once more, but all the racoon could do was stare stupidly at what remained of the simple, metal tool. Again, the low drone. Eric looked up.....and he saw it. He'd heard of them of course. He hadn't been living under a rock for the past decade or so, and they had certainly been around for longer than that length of time......but by the stars he'd never actually seen one this close. A biplane, the Iron Cross, a symbol of where it belonged, menacing and plainly visible on it's side. A biplane, it looked so rickety and unsteady.......but it was flying high above them, clearly seen, but amazingly in a world all of it's own. Eric, not alone thank goodness in his fascination, stared open-mouthed. It was actually quite.....beautiful. In spite of the danger it posed. The young soldier took a step forward, nearly tripping over the head of the embedded spike, significant in what it could have done, but more so from where it came from. The shrill yells, a scream of pain that spoke clearly of the contraption's threat, mattered not at all. And Eric knew what he wanted. That freedom, high above the filth, the despair that surrounded him. He had to fight, fight hard to keep himself from jumping out of this pit and running until he couldn't run anymore.....until he'd found that thing, experienced it. The numbing grief at not being able to escape this place, to touch that horizon and go on and on......leave all of the barriers and boundaries behind with the blue sky, was close to overpowering. With all that was in him he wanted it..... The plane vanished from view. Never would the young soldier forget his crushing envy and what he desired. Now he had to return to the consequences of that aerial visit. He wanted no part in re-building it, it was ghastly anyway. He wanted escape. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ April 15, 1945 The pub was smokey, dim and all in all, a rather awkward place for someone who was accustomed to the vividness of a South Pacific bar called Louie's. Baloo stepped through the doors, almost missing the tiny sign, the close to invisible steps that led the way to this hole in the wall. But it was important that he be here. He needed some instructions, and this was the place to get it. How long had it been since he'd been in Lyndon? Not long enough......looked like hell though. Gotta give 'em some credit for holding out though, but not much Pilots, everywhere. Anglian, Usland, you named it. All had the same, standard khaki uniform. Seemingly all were laughing and carrying on in the smoke-filled room, some gathered at the cramped tables, others lounging around at the bar. Baloo took his hat off and straightened it self-consciously. What were all of these kids doing here? They looked so young, all of them! The gray bear scanned the crowd.....he really didn't know why. He didn't know what he expected to see. This room filled to the brim with young men, some girls....all so young, but...not quite carefree. They all reminded the pilot of someone. Baloo felt a wave of pain overtake him. Kit wouldn't be here, in this hazy place. It was only hope the bear was feeling, and it hurt him terribly. Still, he scanned the room. There wasn't any sign of a tall, brown bear with an open, good-natured expression....and slight shadow in his eyes, anywhere to be seen. Kit wasn't here. Of course he wouldn't be. But still Baloo felt as though he had to sit down. Assuming of course he could find a place. The bar was filled to capacity, the overall lightheartedness of a struggle coming to a close taking precedence over the heartache of the rubble that lay all around them. Baloo had no part in this jovial atmosphere. For most, the pain and confusion of the past few years were ending, opening the way for something that all hoped would be much better. But for him the struggle was just beginning. And he was frustrated. He didn't know how on earth he would find the former navigator. He...Baloo shut his eyes tightly against the thought that still managed to torment him, had tormented him since Rebecca had read that ghastly telegram. He didn't know if there would be anything to find. But he wouldn't give up until he knew for certain and he wouldn't rest one day until Kit was back here, safe and sound. Here, in this place, where he should be. But Baloo never understood why life had to do this to people like Kit, why couldn't it be someone.....anybody who didn't give a hang about other people? Someone who had caused others to suffer. Not someone like Kit. Baloo gingerly made his way to the far wall, close to the telephone. It seemed like the best place to be, wasn't as crowded as the rest of the joint, and anyone who came through the door could probably spot him better. And that was what he was counting on, why he was here, actually. Rebecca, ever resourceful, had managed to get a hold of one of Kit's former crew members. The pilot didn't know the name, but he was supposed to meet him here. Rebecca had sounded a little more cheerful, maybe this kid had some good news. Anyway, the young pilot knew what to look for. The large bear leaned against the dark wall, staring straight ahead, occasionally letting his eyes rest on one or two individuals laughing and carrying on in the pub. He felt ancient. He also felt like these kids were from another world, even though they were fighting the same war. No.....it wasn't his war. Or, maybe now it was, even with all of his efforts to keep it as far away as possible. It could never be personal with him. Such thoughts couldn't help his cynicism either. So what if the war ended tomorrow? So what if they won or lost? Nothing could ever return any of them to the way things had been before any of it. Even with the joy and excitement, that one frenzied moment when it seemed like a world had been born all over again, and that something as dark and terrifying as war could never exist again. It was so fleeting. Now, before....always. It was like a bright flame of a candle. Beautiful when it was lit, but so fragile....and one light didn't make much different against the winds that came after. It didn't take away the loss, or the loneliness of the years to come. And it didn't justify all that had happened. Baloo had never even believed anyone when they had said after that first time it, would never happen like this again. No......it was worse the second time around. Even with the rebuilding, there was no guarantee. And no one in this dark, smoke-filled room could ever go back down the path. Pick up the pieces, tear them down again. It was almost to be expected, but it never seemed to get any easier for the ones involved. "A-Are you Mr. Baloo?" The pilot let his gaze rest on a young man in civilian clothes standing in front of him, looking rather uneasy and prepared to bolt at the slightest disturbance. "Yeah...that's me. Just Baloo by the way. You're the kid who knew Kit?" Baloo came right to the point. Poor kid looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Baloo felt his confusion, sharp and strong rear up once again. Why did he look so ill-at-ease? And so doggone guilty? This kid shouldn't have had a reason to feel that way, and there was no denying that he did. It showed plainly as anything on his face. "I-I'm Gary. I t-talked to a Ms. C-Cunningham and...." "Yeah, that's Rebecca, my boss. She told ya what I needed?" "Oh! S-sure she did. Um.....here......" Quickly, though not quickly enough to stop the persistent shaking in his hands, Gary handed over a neatly folded, small piece of paper. "It's n-not hard to f-find" Baloo took it from him and slipped into one of his pockets. An uneasy silence, noticeable even in the din that surrounded them settled between the two. Baloo had absolutely nothing to say to this kid. From the look of things, he was probably heading home. And Kit wasn't. It wasn't fair, and the gray bear didn't feel like saying anything more, end of story. The cat remained standing in front of him, twisting his hands. The bear waited for a moment, then sighed and held out a hand to let the young pilot speak. "Uh......you know w-who to t-talk to?" The cat's stuttering seemed to almost be getting worse. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, Baloo could see them even in the poorly-lit room they were in. "Eric, somethin' er other. I'll find 'im." "I j-just wanted t-to help in s-some way. I f-feel kinda responsible....." "Why?" Baloo cut him off shortly. He didn't want to hear how sorry the young man was, he didn't want any excuses. He just wanted to call Rebecca and get out of here. "Well......" Gary slowly met Baloo's hard stare. "I d-didn't want to.....but I sorta helped h-him get some supplies. We tried to t-tell him not to go, but he wanted to s-so bad. I'm sorry, r-really. I...uh...he was dropping them off when....." "I know" Gary didn't have any idea of how much the pilot knew. How many times had he himself caved under Kit's persuasion? It was so hard to argue with that kid sometimes. Turning, the gray bear picked up the phone. He stared at it in his hand for a moment. Somehow.......he just didn't have the energy to call Rebecca right now. In a few minutes, but not now. Gary was still standing there, watching the large pilot with undisguised sympathy. At least that nervous, jittery look was gone. "Sir......?" Baloo turned around at that unfamiliar title. Few people he knew used it with him.......Kit had, on occasion. "I just wanted to say, that.......we all respected you a great deal. Kit told us about your flying, h-he just went on and on about it. We all admired what you've done." Baloo swallowed hard, the hard lump in his throat tormenting him. Forgetting that he was supposed to be jumpy and nervous, even forgetting the stuttering and stammering that usually accompanied Gary's explanations about anything he was uncomfortable with, the young man continued speaking. "He.......he wanted you to be proud of him." Baloo put a hand over his eyes, his composure crumbling to pieces. He couldn't even bring himself to look up and thank the cat as Gary walked out, embarrased, still feeling a bit guilty. The phone was still in the bear's hand, but the pilot just didn't want to use it right now. Unconsciously slamming it down, the bear began to head out of the dark room, feeling claustrophobic, oblivious to the stares and raised eyebrows as he forcibly parted the crowd. Out the door, out in the street, past the bombed out buildings, the people waiting in the ever-present lines. Waiting to find someway to rebuild what they had lost, they would wait a long time, but not as long as he would. Past all of the rubble and debris. He wanted to see something familiar, not this place that belonged to another time. Only the Duck, the sky and the freedom that was there, no matter how hollow, was what mattered right now. Escape. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ June 22, 1918 The young soldier's knuckles were white as Eric clung to the sides of the bi-plane. The wretched thing looked as though it couldn't lift a feather.....incredible. Eric looked at the wings, barely visible against the blinding glare of the summer sun. He felt self-conscious in his tattered uniform, his clothing that marked him as being part of the ground troops. The young men all around the small hangar, with it's amazing array of planes, all had their own kind of style, with their goggles and other strange aparallel that was unfamiliar to Eric, and still unfamiliar to most others. He had tried to dislike them, with their smug looks of superiority, as they stared at him as though they were already hundreds of feet above him, and he was just a bug crawling along it's miserable way until someone was kind enough to put it out of it's misery. They were a different breed, these pilots. Eric had watched them for awhile, still feeling in awe at times. It wasn't difficult. He knew now, after two year's experience, how to slip away from the mass of filthy, exhausted troops that went about the daily pretense of living as though it were an act or a scene in a play that simply would not come to an end for them. The racoon had no desire to be there, with the bitterness and the memories....... He wanted to be a part this strangely knit group of individuals. He wanted to share in their arrogance, their knowledge. He wanted their freedom, to be a part of it all, those marvelously-woven and hardly believable tales of close calls, and dogfights with the enemies. Even specific names were whispered, reveried.....The Red Baron. The very sound caused shivers of excitement to come over the young man, who still believed that such emotions were dead in him. But he had watched and begged, until he had no pride left in him, to get a ride in one of those terrifying contraptions, to once.....just once, touch those clouds and be free..... He couldn't explain it, but finally, finally, an older gentleman, almost something from a forgotten era placed voluntarily, if not a little awkwardly, in this time of inventiveness by necessity, had offered him a ride. His plane, a leaky, squeaky, rattling old piece, was his pride and joy. The pilot was even considered a pioneer, in spite of the condition of his aircraft. He'd known the two who had managed to start it all. Perhaps the only reason he'd offered to take Eric along was that the two shared a similar disgust in the overwhelming ugliness of this war. Eric hoped it wouldn't always be so...... The black dog, the pilot of this rusty piece of junk, looked half his age and rather like.....well, a dandy with that scarf and aviator's apparallel. He climbed into the open cockpit behind Eric and started the engines, grinning widely, offering no instructions and worse......no precautions. Eric gasped as the plane began to move about as smooth as broken glass on sandpaper, but they _were_ moving......and gaining speed. The racoon, momentarily panicked, looked back to see the dog still grinning, and giving him a thumbs up signal. The racoon shook his head, he'd never understand those Uslanders even if they had been in the war for nearly a year now. They were too damn cocky at times......especially this one. Eric pulled his lap belt a little tighter and shut his eyes tight as the bucket of bolts gained more speed, then incredibly enough......began gaining altitude. The soldier felt his nerves reach near breaking point as he gripped the sides, trying to ignore the unnaturally loud buzzing of the engines and the pilot's rather tactless laughter. As soon as Eric opened his eyes he'd just have to give that so and so a piece of his mind. Carefully......oh so carefully, he opened them to slits, then wider, seeing a vast, endless backdrop of blue sky, and not much else. Maybe he'd give it to him after they were safely landed, yes, that would be better. Craning his neck mere millimeters, Eric peeked over the side. In a moment of fascination, he forgot his fear and persistent chastising about if men were meant to fly, etc., etc. The devastation was truly awe-inspiring, as was the lines and lines of trenches, some filled with men, others not..... They seemed so small and insignificant down there. Eric scowled for a moment. That, at least, was one thing that did not change whether below or inside one of these death-traps. But......nothing could prepare the eye for the landscape that existed down there. A vast expanse of bombed out buildings, tree stumps, blackened earth that had been turned over and over on itself by the searing heat of shells and four years of massive destruction. The bleakness of it, especially form this angle, created a sense of detachment mixed oddly with the thrill of being above it all. It was horribly beautiful from up here.....down there, it was simply horrible. A loud, mumbled mixture of words and laughter came from behind him. Slowly turning his neck, Eric stared at the pilot and motioned to one of his ears, indicating his lack of understanding. "I said.....awful, ain't it?!!" Eric heard that. Straining his vocal chords to their utmost capacity, the racoon yelled back. "Get used to it.....seen it already....." the short phrases, a fact of life to Eric, took the relaxed smile off of his companion's face. Eric shook his head. What exactly did they think they were going to see here? A couple of scuff marks and that was the end of it? The young soldier turned again, almost in irritation, at the sound of the pilot's voice, so strange in this vast but achingly perfect emptiness. "Why did I what?!" Eric yelled, his voice becoming harsh with the strain of carrying on a conversation up here. He barely made out the words before answering with strained effort. "Jus' wanted ta see what it was like." The pilot motioned with one hand at the blue expanse surrounding them. Eric found himself rising to the question though he himself really didn't know the specific how's and why's. "It's.......like it's better'n what's down there. Easier to forget......" The pilot nodded once to show that he'd heard, then pointed westward. Eric, confused, shook his head, trying to make out the words before they were lost to the elements around him. "My sense o' what?! No.....oh no, no....jus' wanted a ride an'.....NO, left it back on the ground wit' my stomach an' my good common sense." Eric was babbling, knowing full-well that the pilot could probably make out only the basics of what he was saying. The racoon heard a word that he'd heard before as he finally looked over to see two approaching shapes, dark silohouettes against the flawless azure color. *Dogfight?! Is he daft?!!* Eric, beyond caring for any kind of salvaging of his ego or reputation, shook his head with renewed vigor. "No!! Really, let's don't then say we did........" Another grin, Eric smiled back weakly before turning around, slouching down as low as he could and clinging to the sides of the plane like a drowning man clings to the last lifeboat. He'd faced worse situations than this many times and come through. He just hoped that everything he'd speculated on it not really hurting when one finally hit the ground, was true. After all, the terror was only an emotion......it couldn't kill you. Better to be afraid of what caused you to lose your head and what caused your wits to scatter. Eric was soon aware of a faint sense of dizziness as the pilot flipped the plane with remarkable ease. It was like a dance......a dangerous one to be sure, but it took skill and bravery. Eric opened his eyes at the sound of extra engines. He saw very little of what happened next. He was aware of the fluid motions, the near hits, even of having the odd desire to reach out and touch one of the enemy's planes, with how close it came to their positon at times. Occasionally, gunfire was heard, but it was still very infrequent. More like a competition of talent and skill. A duel in the sky or a face-off of manuervering. It was......art in motion. As the other two planes left, Eric encountered a feeling of confusion amidst the whirl of everything else. No hostility, no fatalities, only the enduring respect for artists who knew their craft, regardless of which side they fought on. It was less of a fight, than of a display. Eric had to remind himself to continue breathing. He didn't look back, he didn't trust himself to. Nor was he expecting the hollow pain that made itself felt as they touched the ground once more. He was a shell of what he had once been, here, on the ground. There was none of the vision, the hope for the future that was up there. A small part of the young soldier realized how ridiculoushe must look, sitting there, frozen, unwilling to step out. Sooner or later, they'd have to pry him out, but for now....he though that perhaps he could take on a few of them at a time, as long as it wasn't more than that that tried to seperate him from what he'd just experienced. Surprisingly, the pilot....what was his name? Henry...something or other, was looking at him patiently, with an expression of complete understanding on his face. As soon as Eric met the older pilot's far-seeing gaze, he smiled broadly, finding a small, at times, insignificant but always present part of himself in this feeling, something that had not been buried with the horrors and the self-preservation. Henry smiled broadly and for Eric, that elite circle that he'd yet to understand, opened. He was in, and hooked for life. With the greatest of reluctance, the racoon obeyed the casual motion from the pilot and stepped out. Before he realized it, he was shaking the dog's hand with a great deal of energy. The dog clapped Eric on the shoulder before stepping back. "So....that's the end of it?" "What?" the young soldier stared at Henry, confused. "One time, that was the agreement, right?" Eric felt a sadness he had not thought he was capable of feeling, well up. "Yeah...." he suddenly became fascinated with his shoes. "I was goin' to try an' learn....the basics, after the war, but......" Erictrailed off at the bear's expression. "You think they can teach you the stunts that we just did in some school? Any school?!" Eric shook his head, the faintest glimmer of an emotion he longer associated himself with showing slightly.....hope. "These things have gotta be taught with a one-on-one basis, boy! That's how I came to know 'em, sort of an apprenticeshipyou could say." Eric looked up again, feeling a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. "I did what I did out there for a reason, kid!! You gotta have the _passion_. That's what it's all about. If you don't have it, then it's just you in a plane an' it don't mean a damned thing! Love of what's out there, different for everybody, that's what it is. An' I knew I was right when I detected it in you, my boy." Eric glanced at the plane, then shifted his eyes back to Henry who folded his arms expectantly. "So....." The dog waited for it, sensing the question, but also not understanding the young soldier's coldness at times. "Can you teach me how to .....do the things you did out there? With the...." The racoon really didn't know any of the terms used, he merely motioned rather awkwardly with his hands. Henry nodded once, still saying nothing. Eric, embarrassed, continued, trying to change the subject, though not completely. "An'.....you got any stories to tell me right off. Like wit' this war, anybody.....out of the ordinary who pulls, um...stunts like that?" Henry threw back his head laughing, before walking back to the hangar with the young soldier. "Kid, ever hear of a pilot by the name of Rick Skye?" ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ April 17, 1945 Baloo had had some serious reservations about leaving his precious Sea Duck, despite all of the reassurances that it would be fine. He felt lost here, no one seemed to know where to find this Mr. Baggett that he needed to contact so desperately, despite all of Gary's well- meaning instructions and Rebecca's unforunately infrequent encouragment as he continued to make contact with her. Baloo still didn't know what it was he wanted to hear exactly, but it wouldn't be the right thing until it was Kit who said it. Here, he was less sure of himself that he had been back at Higher for Hire. Usland Airlift Division, or what was left of it. Rebecca had told him in that strained voice that always worried him, although he didn't know how to communicate it, that it was being dismantled. Baloo found himself disliking Kit's former supervisor intensely, though the boy had always spoken well of him in his letters. A stab of pain coursed through the large bear, who almost cursed at the frequency such inconsequential things managed to hurt him. They had gotten a letter the day after Baloo had left. It had been a very hard thing for him to imagine Rebecca sitting at her desk, reading, with that brave facade that somehow managed to cave when it came to the things she cared the most deeply for. She shouldn't have had to face that, and he should not be here looking for more heartache. But the pilot had seldom questioned his luck in life, good or back. It might make it seem less extraordinary. Grabbing his cap off of his head, Baloo wandered around the sheds that appeared locked for the duration of the war. Matter of weeks, that's all, then.....who knew? There was dust kicked up from the scurry of activity, but Baloo felt out of touch with it all. Not even the familiar sound of an engine flying high above him could snap him out of it. He stared at the instructions clenched in one hand, then at the confusing array of numbers, arrows and the like. He had to concentrate. Pushing forward, not sitting here feeling down, that 's what it would take to help Kit. A smaller building, a garage, empty for now, several corridors, then....an office. Baloo scowled harshly at the name on the door, forming just the right words before viciously twisting the doorknob and throwing the door open. "All right, like I said before, I want some......." Baloo stopped mid- sentence and stared for a moment. A young, dark-brown dog stared back, pale from having been scared to death from the unexpected intrusion. *Well.....er, ain't as old as I would've thought* "Mr. Baggett? Eric Baggett?!" Baloo, surprised out of his anger, raised an eyebrow and even offered a hand which the dog didn't take. The two stared at each other for another minute, an odd connection....like the bear was supposed to know something about this kid, impressed itself on Baloo, but he instinctively knew somehow that the boy was not who he had spoken to before. "You're Baloo?" the insolent tone and immediate lack of formalities grated against Baloo, even though the strange feeling of familiarity persisted. "Yeah, who're you?" he matched the kid's tone. Max opened a drawer and pulled out several pieces of paper. "I'm Max, Kit's friend. I've been assigned to help ya find him, though I don't think he deserves to be found at this point....." "Think you'll need these" he added quickly, seeing the dangerous glint in the large bear's eyes. "One.....um....is from Kit. It's for your eyes only" The office was suddenly tense and quiet. Baloo took the note and placed it in one of his pockets. When the time was right and he knew he really needed it, then he would read it. He couldn't now. "An' this one is from the management boys who ran this thing. Jus' says stuff like formal apologies, accepts no responsbility, yada, yada. Useless, y'know?" Again, that odd connection. Baloo almost found himself liking this abrasive kid. Strange. "Also says our good friend Mr. Baggett is in charge of the _extensive_ efforts being made to find Mr. Cloudkicker." Baloo looked at Max sharply, puzzled at the dog's tone of voice. "You sound as though you an' yer supervisor ain't exactly on friendly terms" the large bear rested his hands on the front of the desk, a habitual motion for him. "I think he's a guilty bastard an' probably caused or at least had a hand in all of this. There.....that what you needed to know?" Baloo blinked but thought quickly, finally seeing a window. "Why? Um....jus' curious as to why you'd think that?" With difficulty, he added, "Kit didn't seem ta have a problem with him......" Max looked him in the eye. "He's probably the reason Kit went off an' did this crazy thing. He could've tried to avoid it." It was to the gray bear's credit that he had held his temper and self- control for this long, he needed information more than outbursts right now. It was vital. "You're not makin' sense." The pilot said slowly as Max averted his gaze for a moment. "Look......um..." "Max" the dog growled, still not looking at him. "Right, anyway. Kit's my son.....ya knew that right?" No response. "I need to know what happened, fer my own sanity if not fer anything else." Again, nothing. Slamming his fist against the desk angrily, Baloo yanked the door open again and snarled. "Where's this Eric? Get some answers outta him even if I gotta......" "Kit couldn't figure out why we kept makin' the same drops to the same places when there were so many people out there who coulda used the stuff we were deliverin'. Damn near fanatical about it, in the end. Eric wouldn't tell him nothin', none of us knew nothin', so he got all fired up an' decided to just make an unscheduled run. Through enemy air-space, nice pleasant flight....stupid kid." Max pointedly ignored the look of fury Baloo shot hiim. "You know what the rest of us know, an there ain't much else." Baloo looked down before asking wearily. "He didn't say anyting more specific?" "About what? I mean, he was the only one who _wasn't_ expectin' that he'd get shot down and.......look what happened." Max trailed off when he saw the expression on Baloo's face. "So......you all weren't expectin' him to come back, but you let him go." Max visibly squirmed, his guilt returning with a vengeance. "H-he wouldn't listen! I tried warnin' him, but he just wouldn't listen!! An' I didn't understand his reasoning, anyway....." "Hey, if you want specifics, we got the location where he was shot down, the camp he visited before everything. Gonna need it come time to find clues from the inside, so better take a look at 'em, seein' as how you're as stubborn as he is about doin' what ya want." Baloo finally smiled a bit. Kit's altruism, the sheer frustration of trying to make him see that putting himself in danger was not something that people who cared about him would support, no matter how many people he tried to help. *So.....not just me, thanks be praised* "We even recovered and re-assembled his plane" Baloo's head shot up at that. "What?!!" Max froze at the intensity of the bear's gaze, though he remembered others like it......a little under a year ago. "Where......?" The dog didn't say anything else, just stepped around Baloo with exaggerated care and opened the door, casually motioning with his hand as the pilot followed, clutching his newly-recieved papers like the life-line they were, and willing himself to do this, if this is what it took to find his former navigator. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ It truly was a beautiful plane. *Funny name, though. Wonder where he got it in his head to call it that* Eric ran his hand across the newly polished hull, as Kit had done in what now seemed like years ago. It gleamed with the mechanic's efforts, one would never have known what it had been through. Eric sighed suddenly. *Wish the same thing could be said for it's owner* After the announcement on Kit went out, one of many, they had managed to find the plane and with it, the probable reasons as to where the shells had done their worst. Hadn't taken long to repair it, but the official announcement had to go out, even if it had not been Eric who had had to write it and thank God it had not been him who had had to see their faces.....even if he had pictured them torturously. But it was only fleeting and merely a resulting emotion from his roller coaster ride of the past few days. He should have been grateful that there was no inspection, even if now there was not much of anything else. The lieutenant, still formally, though the title had never really meant anything, caught a glimpse of himself on the plane's shining hull. It appeared distorted and mocking, the racoon couldn't look at it for very long, it reminded him of what he now had to do, what he had not been able to do before and what he was now expected to find. Eric took a step back, letting his eyes rest on the whole of the repaired plane. It couldn't be _that_ bad The racoon shook his head.. It was his fault and he would now pay for his mistakes. Everyone did sooner or later..... The harsh, almost cruel thought pushed the weaker emotions away and Eric observed the clean plane, the organized hangar with sudden satisfaction. In control, although his world was growing much narrower. He didn't care. Let them accuse, let his family feel and share in what everyone else did..... He had to pause there, rebuild something small that had given in and continue. Honey of a plane. He'd been the first to admit that the lad had possessed remarkable skill as well. He'd been the best Eric had seen for a long time, truth be told, and the lieutenant had seen his fair share of barnstormers. A flash of weakness in the form of regret made it's presence known. Maybe he should have sat Kit down and talked about the neutral things, such as the great ones he had known in his lifetime, the adventures that he realized would never reach any blank page......gone so soon. Forgotten in this time of change and transition. The old skills, the drama, the sophistication and elegance.....all gone in a world moving too quickly to realize just what it had lost. But Eric knew, somehow, that that boy would've understood. For all of his youth, he belonged to that era.....and now the racoon felt that it was too late. The only conversation they had had about flying techniques and the like had been brief but......lasting somehow. Everything else had been business as usual. Flying had always been the one passion for which Eric had never felt any boundaries, the freedom was something he would have liked to convey to someone who may have understood. And now, staring at the symbol of what it all had meant, Eric knew that even that was gone. Another chance, lost. A squeaking and a shaft of light on the opposite wall of the hangar indicated that Max was probably here.....with, Kit's father? Eric, despite his constant protests otherwise, had no desire to turn around. He'd seen enough accusation to last two lifetimes. "Sir" the racoon gritted his teeth every time Max spat out that word, completely derisive in it's formality. "Yes" still Eric didn't turn around, though he heard a pair of heavier footsteps accompanying Max's. "I-It's Ki-" "Baloo" a deeper, yet surprisingly clear voice echoed in the hollow building. Eric turned his head to see a large, gray bear in a casual flight shirt and the trademark cap of a........pilot? Kit's dad was a pilot? Made sense, made a great deal of sense actually. Eric stepped back in spite of himself. He didn't consider himself to be short by any means, but this man towered over him. The bear.....Baloo, had an expression of bleak sadness on his face as he reached over and placed a hand on the boy's plane. Absolute silence ensued as Eric stared, then finally spoke up, clearing his throat. "I'm assumin' that Max here......ah, tol' you the situation." Eric ignored the dog's scowl as he waited for a reply. Nothing. The lieutenant could see the pilot's reflection, also distorted. He finally turned around to stare at Eric for the first time. Again, an odd connection that didn't fade out, ten times stronger than before. It was if........he _knew_ this guy somehow, though he'd never met him before and the coldness in the racoon's eyes put him on edge. "How'd they get his plane back?" the pilot asked quietly. "They sent out a report about an unauthorized plane in enemy air-space. A warning you could say. When......Kit didn't report in when we were expecting him..." Max snorted and leaned against the Blue Eagle, arms folded. "We assumed he was shot down, then some began lookin' in that general area. Wasn't too hard as the Alemanians had been pushed back. They recovered the plane but....." "Not Kit?" Baloo asked fiercely, finishing the sentence. "An' who's _they_ anyway?!" "_They_ are the some military units that I contacted......just to see if.....what our chances were of even organizing a group to find the lad. Had to confirm the telegram as well." Baloo thought he was going to be sick. Confirmed.....well, there were worse things than what he was about to do. At least there wasn't anything _confirmed_. The pilot was still completely confused, but all that mattered was his priorities. Kit was gone, he knew why, but it still made little sense. All that he wanted to do now, was find the boy, no matter what. "H-how'd they get the plane all spiffed up so fast? Did a bang up job....." A faint memory. Becky and another lecture...... "Wasn't it expensive?" Eric nodded, looking relieved somehow. Baloo scowled at the expression. The lieutenant shouldn't think he was off of the hook yet, after they found Kit, then maybe...... "Well, yes. But it was seen as....as compensation for you and your..." "What?!" Max and Eric froze. "Tell whoever decided _that_, that I don't want any compenasation, as ya put it. Just want Kit back here, in one piece. No damn piece of machinery is gonna make up for anything." Baloo stomped out of the hangar, Max, and then Eric following, the lieutenant shutting the door after looking at the Blue Eagle one last time. No...didn't make up for anything, did it? ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ Baloo hadn't noticed it the first time he was in the office, but this guy made Rebecca look like a first class slob by comparison. The bear felt awkward just standing in the middle of the room, like the pressure, and the spotless nature of.....everthing, made his every move a mistake that would disturb some kind of flawless system. Max was sitting, staring out of the window, not looking at Eric, but silent accusation was apparent in his every gesture. Eric sighed and sat down, rubbing his temples. "You know that the situation doesn't look good? I mean, there were a lot of MIA's, and this isn't even a military operation. There's no special force tha's gonna bail us out, though we've got financial backing, even if it isn't much. It's just us. We need to find out what we can.....then whoever I can get a hold of will do their best to find the lad." Baloo and Max just stared at him as though he were speaking in strange tongues. Eric put a hand over his eyes. "Listen to me. Here's what we're up against. Just because the Alemanians don't have control of half o' this bloody continent, don't mean that thay aren't still a threat. We can't just go wanderin' around hopin' that we'll get lucky an' somebody would have seen the kid. Nobody gonna's care but us, tell you that right now. Too many other things be goin' on. There was no evidence of where he could have gone, or been taken, whichever, when the plane was recovered." Baloo scowled dangerously. "So what are we supposed to do? If nobody knows nothin'?" Eric stared at his desk for a moment, searching for memories that could help them, even if he had never wanted to recall them ever again. "We need to head to the closest town, the one nearest to where Kit was brought down I mean. Someplace that still has got somethin' standin', and that may have our Allies in it, so's we can get in and make it out in one piece. That's what I was sayin'. This is still a war. And the Thembrians ain't gonna be gentle when they get here, even if they're supposed to be on our side. Too much has been done to 'em. So, there's gonna be some cities that are off limits, even to us. We need to cover as much ground as possible, as carefully as possible. Things are fallin' apart, even if we're the winners. There's nothin' out there, an' nobody's gonna be too friendly, not our own units, not the Thembrians, and sure as hell not the Alemenians." Baloo still looked lost, and now rather ill at ease. "He's sayin' that we probably won't be able to get into Linber. 'Specially not with the Thembrians takin' it from the east. Gonna be awful, that's all. We either gotta count on Kit not bein' there, or gettin' out somehow, if he's still in one piece, or scoping out the other cities where there would be the smallest chance, an' from what I've been hearin' it's pretty small, that someone would be able to help Kit in any way. Doubt it in any o' the smaller towns, just because there's nothin' there to help _with_." Max's clarification only brought more tension to the room. Baloo cleared his throat. This was going to be more complicated than he thought. Talk about a needle in a haystack..... "So.....what do you boys suggest? I mean, from what yer tellin' me..." The gray bear motioned to Eric. "We can't really do much for fear o' gettin' in a situation we can't get out of..." "And you..." Another gesture towards Max. "You're tellin' me that the chances that anybody would be willin' to help Kit are small, so why should we even try?" "I suggest we take it one step at a time...." Eric's voice sounded distant, cold....almost angry. Baloo didn't want to know why, but the racoon had the ability to make everyone around him very uncomfortable with amazing ease. "I'll try, see what I can do. But I'll tell you lads right now, I'm guessin' that Linber's out of the question. From all reports I've heard, place is a deathtrap. Max....." The dog didn't look at the lieutenant, but stood up impatiently. "I already told you.." He answered Eric's unasked question abruptly. "Leichsten....though from what _I've_ heard, place is worse, with what they've done to it, then what the capital could ever be. But it could be our best shot, lots of our boys there, an' it was the closest to where Kit was....um, brought down." "Well, sooner we leave, sooner we get there." Baloo stomped out of the door, leaving Max and Eric to scramble together the maps and such to try and follow. "Er....how're we gettin' there anyway?" the voices echoed in the corridor. "I've got a jeep, borrowed...but it'll do" "Y'know boys, Thembrians ain't so bad. In fact, even know a few 'o 'em myself...." "You _knew_ a few of them." Max retort, sharp and bitter, cut Baloo off. The gray bear stopped in his tracks before shaking his head, and following them out. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ April 20, 1945 The young pilot didn't seem to have the strength to ask for a drink of water, although he needed one desperately. His lips were cracked and sore, his mouth felt dry while his tongue almost seemed permanently stuck to the roof of it, sticky, coated and uncomfortable. As Kit opened his eyes slowly, so slowly, even the dimmest lights caused a sharp jab of agony to confront him, and his remarkably tender head. The young man wished for silence to let him sleep. What he kept hearing seemed so out of place and unnerving. An occasional boom, followed by cracking, or an out and out explosion. Kit didn't quite recognize it. Nor did he recognize his surroundings. The bed he was in, the room, everything......none of it was familiar. And none of it was quite clean, the dinginess of the once white walls apparent even in the semi-darkness, the cracks in the walls. Kit eased his head up to look around. There were many different, empty spots throughout the room that indicated where bed after bed had been placed. Now, however, there were only three, and his was the only one occupied. There seemed to be no one in sight........and no noise except the.....shelling? Was that what it could be? *Who on earth would be shelling here?* Wherever here was of course. Like missing pieces in a puzzle, several important memories continued to escape Kit, frustrating him when he tried to look at the big picture. And by the stars....his blasted head hurt! Gingerly, Kit placed his index finger on the bandage that covered most of his tousled hair and sore, throbbing brain. A twinge of pain acompanied it, but still nothing, thank goodness, in comparison to the terrible agony he was gradually beginning to remember. Incredibly....indeed, almost miraculously.....nothing appeared to be broken. Excepting his wrapped and painful ribs of course. What had Baloo once said? About him being born under a lucky star? The pilot wasn't kidding. Kit sat quietly all of a sudden. Baloo........the young man could barely see out of the window, but all that met his gaze was a gray and cloudy sky, hostile and depressing. The grey bear was probably worried sick. A hundred crashes, a hundred times that first his partner, then he himself had said that it wouldn't happen again, that the next time they would know what to expect. Kit stared down at hands. But he sure hadn't this time....had he? And he'd even promised that he would be more careful, try not to place himself in danger. It wasn't just about himself anymore.....and he'd forgotten once again. Despite his good intentions, despite his confidence, here he was. Frustrated, grimacing Kit attempted to pull himself up and out of the bed, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the escalating pain in his side. Time to answer the question of where _here_ was. Once again, the young man underestimated what exactly had happened. His weakened body wouldn't support his weight so soon, especially when there was nothing to assist him, or to keep him standing upright. The young pilot hit the floor with unanticipated speed, seeing stars, breathless with the pain. His vision gradually blurred and begin to darken, despite his efforts to stay conscious. He felt far, far away when he heard the footsteps, the voices. He couldn't quite see who it was that held him up, or helped him back into the bed. He wanted to rest.......he'd even admit it. He wanted to be back in Cape Suzette, back at Higher for Hire. Somewhere where he knew he'd be safe. Groaning, Kit opened his eyes to slits. He could almost see Baloo standing over him, with that concerned expression that he'd always worn whenever Kit had been ill. He felt....or....was he just remembering.....the bear's large hand on his forehead when he'd felt feverish, or Baloo's presence, always there right when he needed it, when he'd been under the weather, and ashamed because of it. It felt so good.......seeing the pilot again. Kit didn't even consider himself to be clingy, but it was incredibly reassuring thinking that Baloo was right there beside him, and that he didn't have to try and face the consequences of his actions alone. Opening his eyes wider, Kit smiled. The smile quickly vanished as he blinked suddenly and scowled at the young nurse standing over him, an uncertain, if sympathetic expression in her large eyes. The girl's face registered a faint shadow of fear. Kit blinked again, letting his eyes focus on her.....not quite believing what he was seeing. *She's so young!!* What in heaven's name was someone so young doing here......doing this job? She barely looked older than Molly, though in actuality she was probably quite a few years ahead of Rebecca's daughter. And.....she was so thin! Scrawny, just skin and bones. Kit stared unabashedly for a moment. The girl took a rag from deep within her pocket to dip it in a bowl of relatively clean, or so Kit hoped, water, wrung it out and placed it on his forehead. A tiny, half-smile appeared on her face, still with the deep traces of uneasiness and.....something....Kit thought he recognized it. Pain. The former navigator didn't understand what was happening. He was beginning to get a sinking feeling though. This place, the constant shelling, the explosions, and this waif of a girl, the first person he'd seen since the crash. He thought he knew what she was......if only he had as clear of an idea about _where_ he was. The nurse placed the rag on Kit's forehead, muttering something unintelligble under her breath and straightening the young pilot's bedsheets. That young man reached out suddenly and gently grasped the girl's wrist. She recoiled and pulled away as though he'd forcibly struck her. Kit, confused and ashamed quickly released his soft grip. "Wait!" he started as she quickly made her way to the door. "I-I'm sorry, didn't mean to........hey, wait, please!! I just have to ask about my pla...." Kit stopped as the girl disappeared. He crumpled one bedsheet fiercely in one hand and slammed his other fist into the yielding mattress, cursing. He hadn't wanted to frighten her. She seemed so...fragile. It just blew the former navigator's mind. That sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach was definitely starting to grow. The young man leaned back onto the thin pillow, sighing. He couldn't sleep, not with the constant noise, and certainly not with so many questions plaguing him night and day. He had to get out of here, wherever here was. He felt as useless as.......as....well, as he'd felt throughout this entire war, being stuck here. Baloo and Rebecca were probably sick with worry at this point. Kit turned over, easing his sore body into a more comfortable position. Sleep still evaded him. The bear wasn't sure of how many hours had passed with the only noise coming from the outside, the shrieking that notified all of an incoming shell, the blasting, all slowly driving him insane. He heard some footsteps outside the door, one pair soft, another, the sharp tap of boots against a hard surface, and finally the squeak of a different sort of shoe making it's presence known in the room. Turning and sitting up too quickly, Kit felt a blinding pain in his side as he eased himself back down. A now familiar face appeared over him as the nurse tentatively smoothed his covers once more. Kit didn't move. The girl acted afraid of him, yet here she was again. And who knew how many other times she had been here when he'd been delirious and in pain? Two more faces appeared. One, a young......my God, incredibly young, shepard dog in a tattered, but clean uniform painstakingly pressed and decorated. The dog glared fiercely at Kit before speaking harshly to the nurse in a language that Kit once again couldn't understand. He just watched the two......they looked like two children quarreling, which was approximately what they were, as the girl motioned towards him and answered back sharply. The soldier's lip curled as he stepped away, roughly taking the girl's arm and pulling her out of the door. Kit did sit up at that, regardless of the pain. The girl looked back at him for one moment as he watched the two, bewildered. She no longer looked afraid, just tired. She didn't put up a fight as the soldier continued to drag her out. Kit gritted his teeth and attempted to pull himself up and out of the bed in a vain effort to follow the pair. A hand quickly pushed the young man back. " 'ey now....don't think she went ta all that effort for you to be messin' it up, eh?" Kit looked at the other stranger, astonished. Another individual stood beside his bed smiling stiffly at him. He had a cast on one leg and a rickety pair of crutches supporting his weight precariously, at best. Kit stared back, not replying. The dingo spoke up once again. "Bet you're 'bout to 'ave a stroke wonderin' what the 'ell's goin' on, I was thinkin' the same thing when all 'o 'em brought me 'ere." Kit continued to stare, it was a language he could understand, on a good day. But the accent wasn't too familiar. Especially not during these last few months. As though the young man were reading Kit's mind, he smirked. "Usland, eh? That's what that little sheila be sayin' to me....don't 'zackly know 'ow she'd be knowin' though. But....since I be the only one 'round 'ere now who speaks on your terms, suppose I should introduce me self." Kit recognized it now. It was friendly, certainly a pleasant reminder of a place he remembered fondly. The young pilot smiled back. "I just thought that I'd scared the life out of her. I didn't think she was paying any attention to what I was saying." "Oh, she was payin' attention all right. Though 'alf expected 'er to give ya up as a goner afore this. Pretty close call, mate." Kit rubbed the top of his head before glancing back at the dingo. "I'm Kit.....for starters. Kit Cloudkicker. Christopher, whatever. You're from.....Oceania?" The young man leaned back on his crutches with practiced ease. "That's right....born and raised. Me name's Robert. An' tha's all. No one 'round here even give's a damn about _that_. I'm just the lad who 'ad the good sense to learn Alemanian way back in me golden years." Kit found himself relaxing, the dingo's easy-going manner easy to relate to, though amazingly out of place, almost bizarre in this atmosphere. He straightened up once again, grimacing as he remembered. "But...what about.....?" The young bear motioned towards the door. A shadow passed over Robert's face. "Oh.....just not 'appy about bringin' another one 'o us in, suppose. Not enough food 'ere for them, let alone extras. Real pinch you could say." Silence. Robert stared out of the window for a moment, eyes far away. The former navigator envied his mobility, even if he was impeded by the worn-out crutches. "Gal said you were askin' 'er a question after scarin' the daylights outta 'er." Robert leaned forward, expression serious. Whatever he'd seen through that dingy pane hadn't been encouraging. Neither were the sounds penetrating, escalating in volume, coming from outside. Another bombardment. Kit had been hearing them for days on end now, still...he wasn't used to it. "Yeah...my plane. I, I crashed....and then" "You were shot outta the sky...." Robert simplified. Kit scowled for a nanosecond. "Not really, I'm not in the military, and I was...." "You were jus' in enemy airspace..." The young bear sighed and looked pointedly at his companion.......or more so at the continued interruptions. "Okay...how's this" Kit glared at the now smug-looking dingo who cocked his head expectantly. "I was shot down after delivering supplies to some people in a DP camp, I don't know how far away it is from this place. I had to go through some Alemanian airspace, I.....it was a stupid mistake. A rookie manuever, but it happened." "You're lucky ta be in one piece, mate" Robert propped one cheek on the palm of his hand, elbow resting neatly on a crutch, still waiting. "I-I have no idea of how I got here. I don't remember any of it after the crash." Silence. Robert didn't rise to the inquiry. Instead, to Kit's amazement, the dingo began to giggle lightly, then with more and more vigor. "An' 'ere's me thinkin' what I did was stupid. Least I 'ad a reason. Mean, bein' in the RAF ain't 'zackly a picnic, but it sure beats endin' up with yer nose in the dirt over nothin'" Kit felt his temper rise as he stared at Robert incredously. *What a pompous, pain in the..... * "Well....well at least I was helping somebody when it happened. Not dropping bombs or..or causing something like this!!" Kit motioned to the window, out of breath, eyes flashing. An uneasy tension filled the room. Robert stopped laughing, a faint expression of sadness in his eyes. He turned to gaze out of the window again. "A family found you, brought you 'ere. The nurse, don't even know 'er name, she won't say, she's been takin' care o' ya. Don't know 'bout yer plane, don't know about anythin' like that. I was shot down over Landenburg, an' lemme tell ya, this is nothin' compared to that. Fiery 'ell, there. Was the only one who made it, all me mates....well, ain't 'ere. Some o' their last runs, too, afore they was scheduled ta go 'ome." "No such thing as Alemanian airspace now, lad. Ya knew that, right?" Kit didn't......he wasn't surprised though. The young pilot shook his head lightly. Robert continued to stare out of the window. A shrill sound, an even louder boom and several pieces of plaster falling on Kit's bed, dust everywhere, still didn't break the dingo out of his reverie. "So, broke me leg. Now I'm stuck 'ere. An' don't be expectin' this to be anythin' fancy, mate. Ain't no food, no supplies. Nothin'. Water wit' a bit of somethin' in it. Don't even ask anymore 'bout what it be. I was tossed onto a truck, brought here. Don't 'ave anythin' to take us to the POW camp, so's I'm guessin' they think it be enough punishment to stay 'ere. Can't go anywhere, city's blocked off." Kit's mouth was dry. He didn't even dare ask for a drink of water, especially not with the dire predictions the dingo was handing him. He'd faced hunger before. They weren't pleasant memories, he remembered fighting for every mouthful he could get, even the recollection was degrading. It was a full circle, he supposed. Always comes back to basic survival, but still..... It was one thing to fight for yourself, it was quite another to take food from a child, or someone with a family. Anyone........anyone at all who needed it even more desperately than him. The entire situation was unpleasantly ironic. He'd come to fight these kind of things. Now he was a part of it. Everything was crazy, turned upside-down, and there was no end to any of it. "So....we're the only ones?" "Only one's I know of. Only one's stupid enough, or in bad enough shape ta be stuck here. An' it ain't gonna be pretty, when the Thembrians get 'ere." Finally, Robert turned to stare back at the former navigator. An eerie quiet settled everywhere. Even the constant disturbances outside had stopped. Kit could think of absolutely nothing to say. That explained the atmosphere of fear here. And with him right in the middle of it. Robert voiced the young pilot's thoughts. "Shoulda saved some 'o those supplies, mate. Gonna need 'em. An' don't be thinkin' those lads are on our side, it ain't Usland troops, don't 'ave a clue as to why they stopped where they did. Ain't 'eard much 'o anythin'. But I knows it's gonna be brutal. Count on it. Kit didn't answer, only looked down at his hands. Linber, how many times had he read about the city, heard about what was happening. It had seemed like the heart of a terrible evil. Still did, especially with what Kit had seen and experienced. He just hoped he could find a way to get out soon, before everything came crashing down. Both individuals looked up as two pair of footsteps entered the room. The young nurse, her eyes red, said something softly to the dingo, who nodded before shooting a look of hatred towards the uniformed young man standing next to the girl. "She says to stay in bed for a few days more. Says that she's sorry, but she's leavin'." Kit stared at the young nurse, who motioned for him to lay down. He complied. She then walked over to Robert and lightly tapped his cast. He said nothing, only stared down at her. The uniformed shepard dog began to speak rapidly, addressing either the nurse, or Robert, or perhaps both. Kit waited for Robert to interpret, desperately wishing he could at least understand a small part what was being said. It didn't sound too encouraging. "He says that 'e's taking 'is sister and leavin' to go to the north, he 'eard a rumor that his village was bombed out, they 'aven't heard from their family in a week, so they're leaving ta go there." *Sister?!* Another voice, softer, spoke up again. Robert answered quietly before hugging the girl for a moment then stepping back as she made her way out of the door, crying softly. The soldier looked first at Kit, then at Robert. He spat on the floor before following the girl out. Kit stared after him, hoping he didn't look as lost as he felt. So.....this was war. Nothing was simple, nothing was what it seemed. He couldn't quite find his voice. "She.....she's worried?" "She feels responsible for us, suppose. Take care 'o someone, bound ta 'appen. Told me all 'bout 'er brother, though. Bad seed, that. Y'know the type?" Kit nodded, eyes shut tightly. He knew........ "She's not proud 'o 'im, or what's been done. But.....she couldn't stop 'im could she? Family couldn't either. Really can't stand the thought o' 'er bein' left with only 'im in the world. Sad business, tha's all" "Th-they're pretty young...." Robert suddenly looked aged. Kit's expression mirrored the dingo's without his knowing it. "All tha's left, Kit. There what's been left over, an' now it rests on them" Kit hated himself for asking, but he had to. He had to know. "So....we're pretty much outta luck, huh?" "Pretty much. I'd go so far's to say that we're in a 'eap 'o trouble. You're stuck there, I ain't any good wit' this leg. So.....'ope ya got a guardian angel somewhere's. Tell 'em we need some 'elp." An understatement. A shell, neither Kit nor Robert saw from which direction it came from, came smashing through the wall with a deafening roar. The roof came down on top of the pair with terrible pressure. Like a nightmare, Kit felt the debris on top of him, the dust that choked him. He didn't know what had happened to Robert, all he could hear was the shells, falling everywhere, unlike anything he could have imagined. Something fell on his already tender, sore head and like an act of mercy, Kit lost consciousness, forgetting where he was, how he got there, and seeing only memories in place of this harsh reality.......~ One of these days, Kit was really going to have to put his foot down whenever Baloo got a bee in his bonnet about a treasure hunt. Rebecca sure wasn't buying any more of his excuses, the competition was becoming more and more aggressive, and they never ended up with anything but what they had started out with. And that was when they were lucky and hadn't had to jump through hoops to get away from either Karnage, Spigot, or whoever else it was that had it out for them. It was enough to make the navigator want to give it up altogether. Kit stopped in his tracks. Well.....almost, but not quite. But maybe next time he should insist on carrying the map, or at least choosing their destination. Some place out in the open, some place that no one else knew about. And especially, some place where Karnage and his goons couldn't harass them. Some place far, far away from here. The cub was getting tired of always avoiding the captain. There certainly wasn't any love lost between the two anyway, and Karnage seemed to go out of his way to make life miserable for both him and Baloo any chance he got. Like now. Kit sighed and kicked a pebble, listening to it richocet off of the cavern's walls. And that was another thing....no more caves, no more hazardous places that even came close. Next time he was going to insist on it. But for now the navigator of the Sea Duck was berating himself. Severely. Once again, he'd let Baloo talk him into it, once again they were being trailed by his former.....ahem, buddies from the good 'ol Iron Vulture, and once again he had been foolish enough to disregard Baloo's instructions. So, once again he now found himself separated from the pilot. That particular individual was not going to be very happy about all of this. Well, his own lecture or self-condemning would be nothing in comparison to Baloo's, who would ground him for life, if not longer, then threaten to never let the boy out of his room again. All of this after he'd nearly broken his back from hugging him so tight. Kit sighed, the noise echoing off of the walls. The cub really wasn't even certain how it had happened. One minute he'd been right behind the large bear, then, the tunnels had split. Leaving Kit to go one way, Baloo inevitably, the other. *Of all the rotten luck.....* The navigator grimaced. *Yeah, some navigator, can't even find Baloo, let alone the doggone treasure....on top of everything else.....* Sometimes...... He cupped his hands, ready to call out Baloo's name and increasingly tired of wandering aimlessly, ready to face up to the unavoidable lecture. He'd feel better after finding the bear anyway. Kit stopped and leaned against one side of the well-lit, if precarious cavern wall......that one word however, dying quickly on his lips. The boy nearly choked on it as he recognized some rather unwelcome sounds coming from farther down the path, still in front of him. The voices echoed throughout the hollow cavern, and the cub, unfortunately, knew what was coming. "I am not caring if you are thinking we have no idea of where the treasure is you nasty-type ninny! I am the one who is having the ideas and you are the brainless buffoons, the hired henchmen, the imbec-" If there had been a good place to duck and hide, the navigator certainly would have followed through. Unfortunately, with his back against solid rock, and with the opposite side of the path leading only to an open-faced cliff, the only alternative lay behind Kit, in the seemingly thousands of twisting, confusing tunnels that could swallow any hapless explorer who was careless enough to risk it. Kit was willing to risk it when Karnage spotted him. The wolf glared at him as the cub quickly retreated. Kit heard Karnage snarl and pull out his sword. "After him you idiotic ingrates! I will be hanging your filthy hides out on the line to dry if are not bringing that dilinkety-wink type pain in my side back here!!" Luckily for Kit the captain's long-winded announcement and his usual speed gave him time to dart into one of the many tunnel at a dead run, feeling more annoyed than anything else at Karnage and his groupies. *This is getting downright monotonous.* Kit ignored the fleeing thought, concentrating on what was in front of him. The navigator dashed down a smaller tunnel and glanced behind him for one moment, surprised at the lack of yelling and unorganized scampering that usually accompanied these pursuits. Of course, he could not have seen the small rock that tripped him, he was only concerned with catching himself as he went sprawling, hands painfully making contact with the jagged, uneven surface of the tunnel floor. Kit lay dazed for a minute, his body now sore and dirty, his arms feeling as though they'd been jolted out of their sockets. Surprisingly, the boy didn't have any trouble getting up once more. The assistance, unfortunately, was from a most unwelcome source. Kit felt himself being flung over Dumptruck's shoulder as delicately as a sack of potatoes. Kicking and struggling, the boy only managed to loosen the large dog's grip a bit before he felt the dim-witted pirate pin his small arms against him using the massive bulk of his own. The openness of the main cavern only succeeded in magnifying that unpleasant, high-pitched giggle that Kit knew to be Karnage's trademark. The huge pirate carrying the boy seemed to bask in the captain's praise as Karnage patted him on his other, unoccupied shoulder. "Ah, good, good! You have actually been managing to do something right Dumptruck! Remind me to reward your most insignificant self some time.....er, far, far off in my comfortable person's future......" "But...vait, er Captain....dat's vhat you said da last...." "Well my puny-type pest! Do I have to be guessing why you are here? I should not have to be using my most perfect brain to think very hard, yes- no?" Kit scowled and squirmed against the huge dog's iron grip. "I don't remember you ever using it before, _Captain_" the cub sneered at the wolf standing in front of him, arms folded with a superior smirk on his face. Karnage's demeanor changed in an instant as he bared his teeth and stepped forward to grab the boy's chin tightly in one hand. Kit winced at the pirate's rough hold. "I have been looking very much forward to the day when I would not be stumbling over your annoying-type person. I am once more thinking it is time to be reducing you to unrecognized ribbons. What would you be saying, you revolting runt? Should..." "Karnage!" the wolf released his painful grip as Kit flexed his jaw. Baloo stood behind the pirate, both fists clenched, a look of absolute fury on his face as he met the captain's gaze straight on. "Ah! It is the pudgy pilot here to retrieve his loser-type baggage....." "Put him down" the bear's voice was low and dangerous. Kit recognized that tone. The wolf was better off doing what he said. Karnage didn't seem intimidated as he placed his sword back in it's usual place with a flamboyant gesture and stepped to the side of Dumptruck bowing gracefully. "Certainly....Dumptruck, you are knowing where to be putting Meester Cloudkicker?" The large dog blankly stared at Karnage, who slapped his forehead noisily. "The cliff you moronic meat-head!!" Dumptruck jerked the navigator off of his shoulder and, still holding the boy's arms tightly, held him over the edge of the precipice. Kit, in spite of his anger, felt his stomach twist at the darkened emptiness below him. The bottom wasn't even visible. Baloo met his gaze. Kit could see the fear there, even as the pilot attempted to smile reassuringly. was humiliated and more than a little disgusted at that rotten pirate, and at himself for putting Baloo in this situation. *Some day, Karnage is going to regret everything he's done like this!!* The boy's rage wasn't going to help him at this moment. Karnage himself was smiling at Baloo expectantly, knowing what the pilot's reaction would be. Baloo took a step back and raised his hands slightly, not quite able to look at the pirate or on the same token, take his eyes off of his navigator. "I am thinking maybe you are wanting to ask for a bargain....." "I think you mean _deal_ Karny.....what do you want?" Karnage glanced at Kit, wisely remaining perfectly still as he hung over the edge of the ravine. The navigator looked once more at Baloo who was unconsciously twisting his cap tightly, his face tense and worried.. "What are you supposing?" Baloo didn't even bother to correct the pirate as he handed over a worn, folded piece of paper. The wolf grasped it eagerly, unfolding it and glancing back to Baloo with a smirk. "I am never quite knowing how one as plain and estupid as you can always get his grasping hands on something such as this. It is beyond even one so smart as myself! But......he who is weak must give in to the strong species, yes-no?" Baloo raised an eyebrow at the captain's jarbled speech patterns before returning all attention to the boy still hanging dangerously over the cliff. Perhaps the pilot simply didn't trust himself to reply to Karnage's gloating. He just scowled. "Okay, now....put the kid down." A malicious glint appeared in the wolf's eyes. For one fleeting moment Baloo caught it and his blood turned to ice. "Dumptruck?" Once again that individual only managed to stare emptily at Karnage. Pulling out his sword once more the wolf pointed it at Baloo. "Drop him, you doltish dullard!!" For one terrifying instant Kit felt himself free-fall, hearing only Baloo's frantic "No!" It was only through years of thinking on his feet and his own lightning reflexes that he managed to grasp the cliff with his fingers, immediately feeling shots of pain travel down his hands and arms, his fingers quickly giving way. Again, he heard Baloo call out his name as he struggled to hang on. "Kit!!" Disregarding the rather uncomfortable weapon pointed at him, the pilot managed to roughly push both Karnage and his lackey aside, aided by adrenalin and his own terrible fear. A strong hand grasped the cub's wrist just as Kit lost his grip completely. The navigator felt himself being hoisted up over the edge before Baloo stopped for one moment to set the boy on his feet. It cost him. Karnage, infuriated, grabbed Kit's shoulders and harshly pinned him against the unyielding wall of the cavern. "No more playing-type games. You have been a pebble under my foot for too long...." The wolf could have cared less about his mixed metaphors as he grasped his sword firmly and brought it around. Baloo reacted, but not quickly enough. Luckily for the pilot, Kit was ready. Closing his eyes, he kicked the wolf directly in the shin and ducked as the captain released him, yelping in pain, his sword connecting only with stone, sparking and shrieking in protest. Kit then felt two large hands grab his shoulders and pull him away from the slow-reacting band of neer-do-wells and their now very unhappy captain, who continued to hop up and down, grimacing and cursing in pain. Baloo hoisted his navigator up and darted with surprising speed out of the cavern, away from the pirates and down one of the many darkened tunnels that offered temporary safety. Both were breathing hard as they looked at each other. Kit winced slightly, his sore body protesting against Baloo's sudden, crushing embrace. But he didn't mind......it was worth it. The boy placed his arms around the pilot's neck as Baloo kneeled down holding him tightly, breathing raggedly. It was very quiet, peaceful, the two's pursuerers having obviously found something better to do with their time.. Baloo picked the cub up once more, letting Kit's head rest on his chest. "What's the quickest way outta here, Li'l Britches?" Kit smiled and relaxed. "You had the map Papa Bear.....too bad, we could really use it now....." "Wouldn't have been worth it Kit" Baloo's voice, uncharacteristically serious, echoed off of the tunnel walls. "Too bad I'm always forgettin' that that snake can't be trusted....." Baloo started walking, still carrying the boy. Kit didn't mind for once, he was shaky after his close call. The anxiety could have been applied to both as Baloo gently rested a hand on Kit's head, alarmed at the cub's persistent shaking. Kit stared straight ahead, grateful for Baloo's comforting presence, but still......guilty. "Guess I messed up again, huh Baloo?" The gray bear softly squeezed the navigator before responding. "Not your fault, kiddo......what's more important anyway?" Kit raised his gaze up to Baloo's, who smiled at the boy tenderly. That feeling.......sometimes Kit felt as though it would never let him go....not just about this, but.....everything. He felt responsible. He didn't know how to explain it. "Baloo, you shouldn't have to pull me outta the fire all of the time. I-I, sometimes feel like I'm more trouble than I'm worth" Kit muttered, his voice unsteady. The large pilot did stop at that. Baloo gently set Kit on his feet. "Kit, listen to me, an' listen good. The day you're more trouble 'n yer worth is the day when I sprout wings 'o my own an' fly" Kit smiled slightly at the statement. The pilot placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Kid, are you thinking that maybe I'm stupid? Or that I don't know how ta use my head?" The cub hadn't been expecting that. Bewildered, he looked at Baloo before shaking his head. "An' dontcha think I know a good thing when I see it?" Again, the boy nodded his head, still unsure of what the large bear was saying. "Well, then why are you always actin' like you know better'n me when it comes to my navigator? When you say stuff like that about yerself, you ain't just hurtin' you, 'cause it ain't true, but you're hurtin' me too because I don't let nobody talk or assume stuff like that about someone I care about....ever. Not even if it's you kiddo" The navigator smiled broadly in spite of himself and nodded vigorously, his voice catching in his throat and his eyes pricking at him. He swiped at them with the back of his hand, easily staying right beside the bear as Baloo squeezed him gently but tightly with one arm. "So.....I may not be able to make you believe it now, but I'm sure gonna keep tryin'. An' hopefully, someday down the road you'll be able ta see the same things I see when I look at ya. Kit, that would be the best thing I could ever give ya, lemme tell ya straight." See the same things. On the same token, Kit wanted nothing more than to be the kind of person that Baloo always said he was. More than anything else, the best thing the navigator could give back was to make the bear proud of him. "Just one more thing Kit-boy...." Kit grimaced, knowing what the gray bear would say. "I'm thinkin' we should hold off on these hunts fer awhile. Y'know, my ticker ain't gonna be able to take much more 'o what happened back there, what say we let the adventurin' go an'....." Kit shook his head ruefully, happier than ever to see the exit right there in front of them.~ The young pilot didn't want to come back. The pain was so terrible, and he was so tired of feeling it. There was darkness in front of him, making it difficult to see and focus.. He had no idea of how long he had lain here, but he continued to cough up dust and who knows what else. A brisk wind hit him, offering an unpleasant clue as to how hard the building had been hit. He lifted his head up slowly, weak and exhausted. Rubble was everywhere. Robert was nowhere to be seen. Kit began the long process of attempting to stand. He desperately surveyed the debris, seeing no sign of life anywhere. A cold rain began to fall, lightly at first, then with a vengeance. Chilled to the bone, Kit gave up and started to crawl across what remained of the hospital. He could still hear the shelling, but there was no one in sight. Raising his head a bit Kit saw the gray landscape, buildings blown apart.........everywhere, there was destruction. It was beyond his worst nightmare, and he'd had his fair share. Still unable to pick himself up, the former navigator squeezed himself in between two large slabs, probably what remained of the roof, to wait out the rain. He kept hoping to hear Robert's cheery voice call out in that wasteland. Nothing. Nothing but shells falling and the rain to accompany it. The memory of Baloo caused a fog of depression to surround Kit, an emotion he'd forgotten. What was the bear doing right now? The fleeting vision of Higher for Hire, with it's lit windows and the calm, peaceful lapping of the harbor's ocean close by took Kit away from this cold desolation, if only for a moment. That emotion, guilt. How many times had Baloo tried to keep him safe? Risked his own life even. He'd let the pilot down again. And here he was, unable to say he was sorry. The confusion, the overall disorienting atmosphere held sway. The young nurse, even to a much lesser degree, her brother. They were all part of this gruesome little soap opera, but they weren't what Kit had expected. What had he expected? Evil incarnate? . These....kids, were what all of this was for? The city no longer looked like a threat, with it's crumbling skyline and empty streets. These were his enemies? Where exactly where the one's who had started it all? Where were the soldiers who had marched in the countries of Eporue to destroy what had been established there for hundreds of years? They were the ones who needed to face up to all of this. _They_ were Kit's enemy, he was sure of it. More so than what he'd seen, or rather hadn't seen, here. Maybe they were all his enemies. Or maybe there was simply nothing left. The young man wasn't even aware of the exact time that sleep overtook him. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ "War is the reversal of civilization"- George Orwell April 20, 1945 The large, gray bear thought that he'd never seen a more sorry excuse for a city. *Good thing I ain't been here for awhile......* Leichensten, just a name now, like a great many places around here. What remained standing appeared to be crumbling apart, rubble, bricks....everywhere an invasive cloud of dust that refused to settle. Baloo was tired of choking on it. Even here, in this small tent, one couldn't get away from it. To walk outside was to see destruction on an unprecedented level, everywhere, the shocked, at times filthy, but often numbing expression of complete despair on refugee after refugee's faces. They remained huddled in small groups, many afraid of the soldiers they had heard terrible things about, regardless of the amount of truth in them. Baloo almost felt sorry for them, no...not almost. The pity he felt was close to tangible it was so strong. Yet....there was something strange about the whole situation....and it turned his stomach, though why, he couldn't say. Something was......missing. He couldn't define it. The soldiers were friendly enough to the small group, himself, Eric and Max, though they were no help, most having just arrived here from either Anglia or Lorraise....and still shocked themselves at the terrible devastation that was seen....and felt, everywhere. Baloo tightened his fist before leaning back in the rickety chair, not caring what Max's reaction would be, even if the dog did look up and notice. No leads, no clues.....no ideas of what to do next and severe restrictions on where they could go now. Max sat studying the fingered, dirty map carefully, resting his head on one hand, one elbow holding the seemingly worthless object in place as he traced it carefully with his other fingers. Baloo scratched his head before standing up and peeking out of the tent door, still unaccustomed to the shock one experienced at seeing the ruin that lay out there. A few soldiers milled about. The bear turned his head to stare at Max, who looked up for a moment before turning all attention back to his tedious job......a discouraging one, considering the lack of leads here. Finding somewhere else where perhaps they might find _something_. Baloo swallowed hard, feeling the sudden, crushing wave of anxiety and worry. He couldn't let himself thing about Kit hurt or suffering somewhere.....he couldn't. It scattered his thoughts and made him absolutely panicked......and he needed to think clearly right now, more than anything else. He certainly couldn't allow his thoughts to go deeper than that. The thought that maybe Kit.....the possibility he'd never see the boy again.....well, it was too painful. "So.....uh....." Max lifted an eyebrow and slowly averted his gaze to rest it, condenscendingly on Baloo. The bear gritted his teeth. Now if he had a hard time figuring out Eric, with his intimidating coldness and those deep shadows in his eyes, he'd had an even more difficult time figuring this kid out, with hsi irritating ability to make you respect him, in spite of or perhaps because of, his harsh tendencies. "Where'd Eric say he'd be?" the pilot finally muttered. "He's radioing in......he keeps tryin' to get into Linber, though at this rate.....and with all of the _glorious_ help from our troops out there, it doesn't look good." Baloo sat down with a sigh and rested his head in his hands. It wasn't groundbreaking news. The pilot looked up at the sound of sudden scribbling. Max circled what seemed to the pilot, to be an undesignated section which consisted of a confusing mass of lines, roads and the like. Baloo had never been good with maps.....Kit sure had a knack with them, though. Another stab of pain, the large bear was getting rather used to it. He looked up to see Max staring at him. For one second, the tough mask slipped and Baloo saw the sadness,maybe even pity in the dog's countenance. It hit Baloo. Instead of Max, there was another kid, younger, seemingly tough, abrasive and street-wise but hiding a good heart, keen mind and sensitive nature. Baloo had felt a connection then too, and had never regretted it, though the doubts were forceful and frequent. The mask slipped back, Baloo was a bit embarrassed himself, not realizing his inner turmoil could be so visible from the outside. "Max.....humor me for a sec..." The dog looked up suspiciously. "Yeah.....what?" "Were you good friends with Kit......?" "Whaddya mean?" "Well....when 'ol Eric first gotta hold of us, me an'.....Kit's uh, boss, my boss too, I guess, he was goin' on about stolen supplies an' Kit bein' dismissed. You know anythin' about that? I jus' wanted to know. Kit's a good kid....he ever, uh....do anything or did somethin' maybe happen to make him wanna leave?" Max stood silently, clutching his pencil, uneasiness etched over his face in deep lines. "I think, could just be me, but I think that Kit wasn't happy with somethin' going on here.....he can be a little defensive, almost too sensitive, even if he's got a heart of gold.... I jus' wanted to know....if, um.....ya knew of somethin' going on. It could really set my mind at ease." Baloo twisted his cap and looked at Max almost pleadingly, as if begging him for information. A sudden snap caused both pilots to jump and Max looked down ruefully at his broken pencil. "Kit...was a good worker. Everyone liked him.... He jus' took things a little too personally. It was like he felt as if he owed everybody out there somethin' and he got frustrated to the point that he couldn't take it anymore, when he felt like he wasn't makin' a difference..." Max stood up quickly, nervously.....it seemed to Baloo. The young man acted like he'd said too much. The dog stood for a moment, looking outside as Baloo fumbled, trying very hard to think of how to phrase his next question. "Why would he feel frustrated?" The bear finally asked flatly. Short and simple, taking the roundabout approach didn't seem to be working. Max still didn't say anything. Baloo, angry suddenly, though he really didn't understand why, stood up quickly. "Thanks a heap for yer help...." he growled, smashing his cap back down on his head, ready to walk out. "You have anybody else fightin' here, or in the other hemisphere, Baloo?" the dog's voice was eerily subdued. He turned to look at the bear, who shook his head. "Naw.....I was lucky. Thought I could be even luckier, an' not hafta worry, or go through that hell, like I did in the last one. But...." Silence. Baloo motioned outside. Max nodded before walking back over to the table. "I liked Kit, sure. Even though he thought he could change the world. We kept deliverin' the supplies to the same spots, but.....it was weird, didn't add up if ya know what I mean. We kept deliverin' more and more suff. Like I said....didn't make sense." "There are a lot of people out there but......look, don't hafta draw you a picture do I?" The gray bear, now sitting directly across from him, nodded once again, his understanding slowly beginning to grow. "I wondered 'bout it, I guess....everyone did. But Kit....it was like he just couldn't let it go. It jus' burned a hole in him. You're his dad, you can't tell me you've never noticed...." Baloo didn't have to nod his head again. His eyes were full of memories....they spoke for themselves. "So, one night, me an' him, we were talkin'. And just to get some blasted peace I guess I humored him...." "How?" came the harsh reply. "We went into the shed, uh, were they kept all of the stuff, an' broke one of their petty regulations. Opened up a crate. I was really thinkin' that it was weapons, contraband, y'know.....something like that" Baloo let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Jus' more supplies.....kid got so damn frustrated, guess it was the last straw. He talked to Eric......an' I honestly don't know what was said." Max held up his hands. Baloo motioned for him to go on. "But after...um, well, Kit wouldn't listen to reason. He jus' thought, like the rest of us mind you, though he was more adament, that if we couldn't do our jobs the way we was supposed to, or if we were helpin' something or someone we didn't want any part of.....than he would go off himself. Don't know what he wanted to accomplish" "An' you guys helped?" Baloo's gaze was frosty. "It was the only way I could think of to try and prevent him from bein' scattered all over a hundred mile radius....not that it did any good, shoulda just kept to mys-" Max stopped again, the same sympathetic expression apparent, as Baloo's face twisted. "Sorry" he mumbled. Baloo just plowed ahead. "Well....._why_ we ya just deliverin' all of that stuff to the same place? I'm startin' to see Kit's frustration!" Max planted both hands on the unsteady table which creaked and rocked as he leaned against it. "I think Eric had a little under the table business goin' on with people who _really_ knew how to use what we shoulda been givin' out....an' when Kit decided to unravel it, he wasn't too happy....." Max then folded his arms, chest heaving as Baloo stared at him carefully. "Eric? As in...Eric, Eric?!!" Max nodded. "Is that, that.....uh, bad feelin' between you two. I swear, it's like fingernails on a chalkboard bein' around the both of you sometimes." Again, the brown dog nodded and glared at the large bear. "I know what yer thinkin'. He's......a mystery. He served in the Great War, y'knew that right? Then he was a pilot for awhile after. Pretty good one at that......if you've never heard of him, like me, then I suppose it was because he was either anonymous or under a fake name during most o' those years." Max sighed and rubbed his eyes suddenly. "Basically he's got respect _and_ connections, an' you don't think he'd get involved in anything shady.....but there's too many creepy things 'bout the guy that I can't explain away." "An' his attitude after Kit's....uh, disappearance. Even towards Kit up until he left. There are too many things that can't be explained.....an' what makes it ten times harder is that the guy's smart.....and there's still somethin' about him that, um, well....I guess draws people." "How else do you think we've gotten even this far? Even if he is under orders? Hell, I'm under his high and mighty policies now an' I really can't stand him....but even _I_ like the jerk!!" Baloo, his knuckles while from gripping the table, began to chuckle at that, releasing his hold. The bear knew that Eric was tied in more strongly with all of this than perhaps the bear really wanted to know. He also knew that he understood something about the racoon that he couldn't explain. Something that not Rebecca or Louie...or even Kit could fully see, know and remember. It was an old bitterness, sometimes consuming. The bear felt a wave of guilt to know that those who didn't understand it and had no responsibility for it were the ones who had to finally, after decades of festering hate, bring it to it's conclusion. And this individual could see the vast scope of it, much more than Baloo did. The bear many times wanted to ask, even though before he'd been lacking specific knowledge, about how the racoon had been able to become less of a victim of such a tragedy, and change to something closer to just a result of it. The finished product, seen and expected. "So, that's yer hunch? Where's your proof?" Baloo put his hands behind his head. "I don't have any.....probably won't get any either. If he's here now, searching, then you'd think it'd blow my whole theory all to pieces, wouldn't you? But I think he's guilty o' somethin'. Gonna be even worse when he finally cracks and confesses." The dog stopped. Baloo blinked, surprised at the young man's assurances, they were almost uncanny... "'Course, won't change anythin'.....never does. Sometimes don't see the use, even when dirty so and so's have to face up to things. Can't change what's already happened an' it sure can't bring Kit back, no matter how guilty anybody is, an' fer what reason....." Baloo's thoughts matched the mood in the tent, the far-off pain in Max's eyes. The bear cleared his throat awkwardly but still the dog didn't snap out of it. Baloo made to stand up again before he heard Max speak up, the young pilot's voice was thick and unsteady. "Kit.....he, uh. Well, might as well say that he reminded me 'o my brother......always chargin' off anywhere he could without thinkin' it through first. I told the kid he was a blasted fool, each time I told 'em......but it didn't do any good either time, did it?" Baloo felt strange all of a sudden. An old memory, long since buried away. It hurt to lose someone you loved.....especially a brother. "There was a lot, 'specially in that God awful invasion.....one of the last waves. Have to find....the uh....place, where he's at now. There's a lot of 'em, like I said. Still haven't visited it. Too depressin', y'know?" The dog walked out of the tent. Baloo barely noticed that he'd left, feeling an unbearable pressure on his chest. *Know how ya feel kid....* The pilot looked up again as he hear the tent flaps open. Instead of seeing Max, almost a relief considering that Baloo didn't quite know what to say to the young man, the bear say the subject of previous discussion. The racoon seemed out of breath. "Good news?" the gray bear asked anxiously. Please....he needed some right now. "I.....jus' heard something, can hardly believe it....but, no, sorry. No news 'bout Kit." "Well...what happened?!" Baloo didn't feel like making conversation. The expression on the lieutenant's face was unnerving, he almost looked sick to his stomach. He didn't like the sudden apprehension he felt towards Eric either. His first impression, that the officer was hiding something, came back with a vengeance. "You need to hear it from these guys. Jus' arrived from some place little farther north. They.....saw somethin' there....I. You need to hear it from them. I don't really want......" "What?!!" Baloo was suddenly, unexpectantly, afraid. There had been rumors of something going on....but there were always rumors. "Baloo...." the racoon's gaze was intense. He looked far away and disturbed. "There are some refugees comin' in.....jus'....be prepared." The pilot didn't reply. He didn't move from where he was standing either. Finally, Eric sighed. He hadn't wanted to phrase it. Still wouldn't. But surely the bear had noticed...... "There aren't......any, uh.....polar bears around here? That you've seen?" The lieutenant's crisp accent made the words penetrate, though the bear didn't understand. Maybe he didn't want to. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ Eric watched Baloo's expression closely, though he couldn't exactly say why. The bear had become paler and paler, until the Lieutenant had been worried that he'd pass out. The two soldiers speaking didn't look much better. One even left in the middle of the discussion, appearing a little green around the gills. Eric couldn't shake the butterflies in his stomach, or the chills that occasionally took over. What he'd just heard from these individuals was beyond belief, nothing......not even the horrors he'd experienced in battle, not even the nightmarish visions in the trenches, things that should not be seen, should not even exist, could compare to the images that confronted him now. It could de-sensitize him. But......he didn't care right? Just more people caught in the middle. Just.......casualties of war. There were always casualties of war. But not like this. The soldier's face as he'd stammered and tried to form the words that could even slightly describe what had been seen. Eric didn't care, he told himself over and over. Seen too much, he should have expected it, with the human tendency for. But the racoon felt like he'd been forcibly hit in the gut. God.......how could he care _not_ care?!" Eric didn't want to see those who remained, who would arrive soon. Crazily, irrationally, he had wanted to sit that soldier down, to let him take a deep breath, just to clear away whatever images he must've had.....or even just shake him fiercely, to make him take back such morbid, twisted lies. Something sparked in Eric. He tried to douse it. Finally, after twenty years, something that couldn't be brushed off or explained away. All the racoon could do was stand and watch Baloo, who quickly sat down. The bear looked old, a stray thought entered into Eric's head as his precious, solid defense for continuing on, despite everything else, cracked and fell apart. His son was out there, the pilot's. Emotions, terrible, unwelcome, began filtering through the widening cracks in Eric's soul. Sympathy, then the pressing, ugly phantom. Guilt. Strong. His fault. He'd ignored the dangers in his own frigid, structured universe. And it was his fault. He wanted to turn and run away as fast as he could, as the large pilot approached him. Him, Eric Baggett, who didn't back away from anything, exept maybe his own humanity. Baloo, shaking, thoughts scattered, was practically tearing his cap to pieces. All of the easy-going attitude, even with the previous fear and tension present, was gone. Stark horror, Eric was no fool. He knew his own expression matched the bear's perfectly. "We need to find Kit......now. An' I jus' wanna get the hell outta here." Eric stared at the bear for a minute. This place was bad news, always had been. Place of suffering...and now all of his former convictions about gettng involved almost seemed correct. "People are crazy...I jus' wanna get Kit _outta_ here, an' I was right. Always right, shoulda never gotten involved...." "Baloo....." Silence. Neither could think of anything more to say. After a time, Eric looked past the tents to where the sun was setting. It seemed so peaceful and normal......almost mocking, now that he knew what it set on. "I've.....never heard 'o anythin' like that in my life....." A voice that Eric hadn't heard in a long, long time prodded and poked at him as he saw Baloo's expression twist. Even if neither had mentioned Kit, the young man's name hung in the air now. Eric....needed to tell the pilot. It could only get worse now.... "Hey Eric, I, uh....appreciate what ya did for Kit, afore all of this. An' I'm glad fer your help now...." Despite the sincerity in the bear's voice, Eric saw a hard glint of.....some new knowledge, something he hadn't detected before. *Need to tell him.....how can you live with yourself? You'd better hope, every hour of every day that that kid is still alive.....it's your conscience* Eric hadn't missed it. That voice deep within him that was proof to the fact that he still cared. But....still. "It's all right. Better get a movin' outta here. Need to cover new ground." Still not strong enough. Baloo nodded He felt very tired suddenly. "Yeah.......guess so....." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ November 22, 1916 He was just a boy and Eric looked upon him with all of the contempt and wordliness one carries at the far-reaching age of 19, soon to be 20, or so Eric prayed ever morning as he woke to face the rats, filth, stench, itching and lice that was the glory of war. But the boy sitting next to him, chattering incessantly, eyes wide, had scarcely entered his teens. Tall, gangly, full of hope and the foolish desire to see what he had been missing these past two years. He was fifteen. He'd lied about his age and was now an enlisted man. It didn't really matter, it was getting to the point that those who could make any difference simply looked the other way. They needed the manpower. It was enough to sicken Eric. The boy, he'd find something......or everything. Everything he'd been sheltered from, soon enough. He'd never seen a battle, had never seen or felt what it was to walk through the blinding, searing pain of iron and heat. He had latched onto Eric for some unfathomable reason, in spite of, or maybe because of the racoon's non-chalant, cold and distant behavior. It was hard to try and break through that icy wall and the boy had been rebuffed time and time again, but Eric was the only one capable of tolerating the lad's unceasing talk, day and night. The pup had quickly learned, by cuffs or harsh remarks, what the others thought of his well-meaning, if never-ending advice, quotations and views. Eric rolled his eyes, went about his business and gradually, over two week's time, became used to the shadow following him. He _did _ have a name, the tagalong. He went by the name of Benjamin, or Benny for short. An Uslander, bloody fool, who had left what could have been a life......maybe even a decent future, to cross a border and join this movement which he did not understand, none of them understood. It was his life........or it had been. It was now simply left to chance, and it was the most important game that could be played, here in the trenches. Eric, at times, couldn't even bring himself to look at the boy, though Benny's prominent accent and periodic slang occasionally broke through his carefully erected shelter with biting irritation. *Bloody, ignorant fool........* Eric couldn't quite tell the kid to get lost though. Nor could he bring himself to actually go beyond just tolerating the lad and begin to think of him as a friend. Benny was only an overly-excited, idealistic, naive kid without any common sense to protect him, and without the self-preservation that would keep him alive. *Can't get too close....* Though the boy reminded him of someone else he'd once known, gone......changed forever inside the narrow existence of two dirt walls and what lay beyond. Eric leaned his head against the hardened wall tiredly, his body sore, yet restless.......anxious. The young soldier stared straight ahead fiercely, the thoughts that controlled every emotion and every act creating a turmoil in which Benny's chattering was forever unobserved. Another, then another, until there wasn't anything left to throw at either side, and exhaustion would hold the real victory, with the hate and dissatisfaction still boiling and simmering, not to be contained. Something broke Eric out of another of his silent contemplations. He wasn't sure what. He turned to take a look at Benny, surprised to realize that, for the first time since meeting this individual, this earnest-looking dog of undetermined breed with one ear that always flopped down with insolent regularity, the boy was silent. Benny merely stared at Eric for a time, who stared back, wondering what kind of cataclysmic event could have provoked the quiet atmosphere. There was something different about Benny's eyes and the dog leaned back, as though he had observed something in Eric's reverie that he had never taken upon himself to notice before.......and it repulsed him. But Eric didn't care, there had been times in the past when he himself had felt repulsed. It passed. As did the silence. "Hey.......uh Eric?" The racoon continued to stare ahead for awhile before clapping a hand over his eyes and answering back, despite his better judgement. "What?" "Ya never tol' me, but didja ever go out there.......out where's they say there ain't no comin' back from?" Slowly the young soldier turned his head to make eye-contact once more. Benny, in spite of his height and his usually self-confident mannerisms, just looked like a frightened kid, unsure of what he'd come here to find......for the first time, with the grayness and the bleak silence, it affected even him. "A few times" The racoon's clipped replies didn't deter Benny in the slightest. "W-Were you ever scared? I m-mean, I won't think less o' ya, but it j-just seems......" the stammering, the poorly-veiled nature of the questions, all seemed to put Benny on a new level, and all at once he was just another scared soldier, without the burning idealism or the jaunty sense of adventurism. Eric chuckled softly, then gradually he found himself bending over, laughing loudly. Benny grinned uneasily, no quite able to share in Eric's laughter. It certainly wasn't contagious. *He won't think less of me. That I was terrified, well......that's a relief to be sure.......wait'll it's _his_ turn* Eric's eyes turned hard in a flash. "Just wait lad, after your first go at things, I guarantee you won't be askin' me any more 'o these questions. Fear's just a way 'o life here, tha's all. Can't even be called an emotion any longer." Benny's grin slowly faded, his expression seemed completely mistified. In spite of himself, in spite of everything, Eric almost.....hoped it would stay way. Quickly, the racoon stared forward once again, leaving Benny's contemplative mood and uncharacteristic inquiries behind. Shrugging suddenly, Benny moved on, such was his nature, thinking of another story that would crack that old curmudgeon's shell. *Something _had_ to penetrate sooner or later.* Eric reverted back into himself amidst the familiar sound of Benny's prattling........ With a start, the soldier jerked awake, astounded to see only darkness, and feeling only the freezing air. It took a moment to realize that he'd fallen asleep. A slight snore from beside him, along with Benny's head lolling unsteadily against the wall, without any kind of support, indicated the boy was in the same frame of mind he'd been in, and had unconsciously fallen asleep. Most could sleep in any position, regardless of how uncomfortable, for hours. But the sounds coming from the boy were not what had woke him. A single shot, clear as a bell in the cold night air, rang out again. Sniper fire. Instinctively, Eric stood up, but ducked his head, standing in the middle of the trench, listening..... The sandbags that lined the tops of the trenches were supposed to provide adequate protection. But still, protecting oneself was certainly a simple reaction. Another shot rang out, followed by two more, a strange, lonely succession. Eric could still detect no motion or any kind of disheartening sound that indicated that the snipers were having any success. The firing stopped. So did the sounds that indicated sleep close by as Benny rubbed one eye drowsily and looked around, momentarily disoriented. Eric's back was to him and the dog stretched and yawned before getting to his feet. A small hole in the barrier, a tiny place where the sandbags allowed the enemy to break through, even if for four years they could break through nowhere else. A shot, clear and echoing. Eric whirled around as he saw Benny hit the opposite side of the wall with a yelp of pain. A shocked expression was the most noticeable thing on his young face as Benny gingerly touched his shoulder and winced before looking over at Eric, who was unknowingly shaking and breathing hard. The boy's face was pale and drawn, his eyes continued to focus on Eric's and the racoon felt something rather unwelcome, if not completely alien. Pity, compassion even. Benny began to talk nonsense, short phrases mostly, he didn' t appear to be a bold adventurer now......he had never appeared so to Eric. He just looked the same way he must have felt and Eric felt his pity turn to pain. He understood what it was to feel that way. . Eric knelt in front of the boy and lightly probed the shoulder. Benny, sweat pouring down his face, gasped. "I-I've been hit, never thought it would happen, 'specially not this quick, but it's over.......I'm headin' out ta get my wings....." "Benny....." "Gonna be pluckin' a harp, look fer me up there boys......I've played my last number, don't know how my ma's gonna take it...." "Benny, for hell's......" "Break it to her gently, wouldja? She's kinda sensitive.....an' don't tell her nothin' if she's got blasted rollin' pin with her." Eric rolled his eyes skyward and began to tear off a bit of his uniform. He began to wrap the injured shoulder . *Even now......he won't stop.....* "It's a nick, tha's all. Barely a scratch. But if you don't learn from it, next time it'll be someplace you'll find that you're gonna need some time, an' in your case I'm not talkin' about your head" Benny stopped at the harsh words. He'd never heard that long of a speech from Eric before. Sobering, Benny forced himself to look at the shoulder. "I'm gonna bleed to death by mornin'" he said mournfully, fishing for sympathy. "I lost more blood when my first tooth came out....." Eric finished tying the bandage and helped the boy to his feet. "Keep your head low, an' go report to the med officer. Maybe you'll get a chance to meet up with one o' the nurses back at the nearest town." Benny slowly grinned as Eric winked at him. The dog made his way down the trench before finally vanishing in the darkness. Eric sat down, rubbing his arms and blowing on his hands, finally able to feel the frigid air's affects on him. He could scarcely believe what had just happened. Had he really said that? Even joked around like that?! Since when did he allow anything to get through? He couldn't allow it.....never. But, he had. Sighing deeply and covering his eyes with his hands, the racoon put his head down on his knees. It seemed he couldn't win. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ April 22, 1945 Throughout the years, the appearance of the room had changed slowly, maturing, but the sound of a soothing waterfall and the bright lights that twinkled like old friends remained the same. Molly, staring at her reflection, one elbow propped up on her dresser, was thinking with disgust that she still looked the same way she did when they had first come here, with the exception of some added height and a long, blonde braid that hung carelessly down her back. The girl scowled darkly, the mirror imitating her sour expression perfectly. Molly sighed and lightly pinched one cheek, observing with disgust the child-like dimples that were still present. She rubbed both cheeks vigorously and observed the result. The added color prompted a smile from the girl, but she needed something more, like on her eyes, or....... A mischievious smile crossed her face as the girl tip-toed across the carpet to lightly shut the door, hearing her mother's tired but muted voice from the inside of her room, speaking to someone, probably another person to help find Kit. Molly grasped the doorknob suddenly as a wave of pain hit her. She shut her eyes tightly. Kit......why did she have to think of that right now? *Why did Kit leave?* It seemed, sometimes, like bad things always happened when he left. She missed him, the talks, the jokes they shared.....no one else seemed to care or treated her like anything else but a little kid. Even her mom really didn't understand. Molly sat back down in front of her mirror, sighing once more, her breath a little shaky. She had cried every day, but today she would make it.......or not. A single tear slid down as Molly looked at one of the many pictures taped to the mirror. Kit, with one arm around her, winking at the camera as she grinned. It had only been a year ago, and he had been so nice......he was always so nice. She'd only wanted it taken.....well, she really didn't know why. *Maybe to brag?* No way, even if all of her friends did think he was so handsome, and so dashing....on and on, until Molly had thought she'd be sick. Kit was just a friend, someone she'd pretty much grown up with, she couldn't think of him any other way. But.......sometimes....... She wished he didn't look at her like she was his little sister. Sometimes she really thought he was kind of cute. Shaking her head, Molly focused her gaze out of the window before looking down at her hands, trying to focus her thoughts. He would come back......that's what her mother kept saying. But it was the times she caught her mom staring out of the window, looking so sad, or the tension in Baloo's voice when he called, despite his cheery tone. These were all what put doubts in her head. It frightened her. They didn't have to try and hide it from her......she understood. Sniffling and opening her dresser drawer, Molly looked back to her tear- stained reflection. She had no choice but to try and understand. Glancing at the door with sudden apprehension, Molly pursed her lips, not quite sure of what she was doing. She'd never tried it before. Steadying her hand and closing one eye, she began. Molly thought she was making pretty good progress considering, when she heard the doorknob turn....then, she froze. The door creaked open and Rebecca's soft footsteps came half-way into her room. "Molly sweetie, are you all right? The door was cl-" Rebecca stopped suddenly, a shocked expression on her face. Molly turned around, not looking her mother in the eye, but staring down at her feet with scrutinized interest. Quick as a flash, she put the condemning object behind her back. "Molly..........Elizabeth.........Cunningham, how could you do this to me?" "Mom......" "I mean, haven't I given you privacy? And haven't I tried to bring you up right?!" "But Mom......" "I know it wasn't easy......but for you to do _this_!!" "Mom, would you......" Molly scowled and finally met her mom's gaze, biting her bottom lip self-consciously. "Young lady, I am so disappointed in you, I just don't know what to say....." "Mom!!" "Come on, let me see your left hand" Quickly Molly switched the troublesome thing to another hand and obeyed as best she could, considering. "Your _other_ left" Rebecca folded her arms and gave her daughter that look that Molly knew too well. Slowly, ever so slowly, the girl held it out by the tips of her fingers. "What made you think to do this, Molly?!" Rebecca held the object out as though it would bite her. "Mom, all of the other girls...." "You are not all of the other girls......did someone put you up to this, huh?! Or is it just a fad.....disgusting, that's what. Let me tell you, I would never have pulled a stunt like this......I-" Sighing, Rebecca looked over at her daughter helplessly. "Mom, it's only a tube of lipstick.......it's not the end of the world" It was for Rebecca, fair or not. It showed that one child was gone, and she didn't know how to bring him back, and the other was slipping away from her, day by day.....growing up. "You are too young for this......uh, young lady. Wipe that stuff off. I don't need this. Unless I say otherwise, you do _not_ bring anything else like this into my home until I say you are good and ready.....and not before!!" Molly opened her mouth to protest, having already wiped the added color off, but the unsteady expression on her mother's face sent jabs of guilt through her. "I'm sorry....." she said as the door slammed suddenly. Molly felt rooted to the spot. She didn't mean any harm, really. She.....she just wanted to look older, she was tired of being the little girl that no one saw or noticed anymore. She lightly pressed an ear to the door, the sounds coming from the outside of it alarming her. She didn't think it would bother her mom so much. She was kind of......over-reacting, right? Molly felt very lost suddenly as she carefully walked down the now- darkened hallway into the living room. She leaned against the corner wall, watching her mother sob quietly on the couch. It was a rare thing to see Rebecca lost any kind of control. Molly felt her heart tug at her to see her mom crying like that. "Mom.....I'm sorry, really" Molly remained very still as Rebecca brought her head up quickly. "I-I won't do it again" Hearing her voice begin to break, the girl trudged over to the couch to sit next to the businesslady, who put an arm around her and hugged her tightly. Rebecca seemed......and sounded, far-away as she absently answered. "That's okay, honey. It really wasn't that.....I over-reacted and I didn't mean to scold you" Rebecca's eyes were focused on the far wall, but Molly knew she didn't see it. "Baby, I think I need to tell you something" Molly sat very still as tears began streaming down her mom's face. "Sweetie, you know Baloo and I......we would do everything we possibly could to, to keep you and Kit safe." Molly found herself nodding, though the pain left her breathless. She couldn't recall her mother talking about the four of them that way before........like a, family. "Hon, Baloo's frustrated. I can't imagine what else he must be feeling. I'm frustrated too, I guess......" Molly didn't interrupt the momentary silence, nor did she understand it's cause. "There hasn't been any luck trying to find Kit. There's just so much going on over there. You've been very lucky. Your friends were too young. But......there were a lot of young men....." Rebecca stopped again, pacing herself, exhausted at the weight of her words. "Molly, there's a very good chance that Kit won't be coming back." Molly was crying terribly, although it was not unexpected news. To hear her mother say it though. Rebecca never gave up...... "They've tried, and they'll keep trying. But.......there's been a lot of terrible things that have been happening over there. I-I had no idea, even a few weeks ago. Something could have happened. We're not giving up...." Rebecca finally met Molly's gaze and hugged her as tightly as she could. "I just wanted you to know the truth." The waterfall, the lights of Cape Suzette........the world at war, finally coming to an end. But the real battle was the one that the two inhabitants of the darkened apartment were facing. For them, for hundreds like them, the struggle was personal......and it could never end with treaties or surrenders. It went on. Molly continued to sob as Rebecca held her, crying herself. Finally catching her breath, the girl began rubbing her eyes frantically, trying to talk about.........something else she still didn't understand. "Mom?" "Yeah sweetie?" Rebecca brushed some hair off of her daughter's forehead. "When......when you fell in love with Dad......how did you know?" Rebecca froze, caught completely off guard. She looked at Molly increduously, trying to find her voice before attempting to answer. "I-I....well......I" Rebecca rubbed her forehead for a moment. "He was......very kind. He was a very good, gentle man. He always.....treated me like I was special. I don't remember him ever saying an unkind thing. He was a good person. That meant a great deal to me. I think I loved him for his heart, the way he treated people. I realized it when I felt.....less complete. Like a better part of me was missing when he wasn't there. Why.........do you......feel.....that way about, uh Kit?" There was no humor, nothing demeaning in the question. Rebecca seemed very uneasy about asking it in the first place. It was so very personal. And she thought of these two as.....her's, well, one was. It wasn't easy to think of them as anything else. The woman's eyes were very, very sad as she looked at her daughter, realizing how foolish all of her hopes were, that Molly could be spared the kind of torment that she had once gone through. The girl looked down. "Everybody loves Kit......y'know, it's just him" Rebecca sighed, and rubbed the back of her neck. "I know, but.....do you think......it's something, different, with you?" "I don't know...." she mumbled. "I......thought-" Rebecca didn't push her and Molly's voice was very unsteady, the tears heart-wrenching when she looked up again. "I think.....I want to be, but I just hope I can find.....somebody like him, don't you Mom?" Rebecca wiped some tears off of her daughter's face gently, realizing for the millionth time how beautiful Molly was becoming, every hour, every day. "Here's hoping sweetie." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ December 18, 1916 Clear and beautiful, like a ghost or a faint reminder of another age.. A voice was what it was, singing a Christmas carol. It swept across the shell-marked landscape and left a searing pain which gradually subsided to an always present ache in Eric's heart. And he now knew of it's existence, despite everything that had tried to take it from him. He stood silently, as men ceased their preparations all around him. The voice wrapped itself around everything and the beauty of it allowed everyone to be transported to another time, in a house, lit with candles, and the snow, a source of joy, instead of endless misery. It dd not matter what side, where the home happened to be, or in what form the memory existed. It rose above the trenches to secure those not quite ready for their journey into No Man's Land. A smile crossed Eric's face as he heard a low whistle from behind him. "Sure is nice, ain't it?" The lad had a knack for the understatement. Benny folded up the letters he had been scribbling on and added them to the others, placing the awkward bundle in his pocket before staring at his hands, fiddling with the buttons on his uniform. Eric propped an elbow on the dirt wall to rest his weight and stare down at the boy. By afternoon, a minor offensive would be under way. There hadn't been any major units spotted around here for quite some time....so unless they were buried or dug in for the duration, the resistance should be minimum. But Benny was obviously nervous, though he forcefully tried to hide it. Couldn't show his anxiety in front of these boys, especially not with the insufferable swaggering he had shamelessly displayed along with his rapidly healing wound. Eric had watched him good-naturedly, allowing the dog's antics to distract him from the nagging worry and eventual sickening dread that always accompanied and took control of his emotions before going out into that war- zone. He'd heard all of their excuses and rationalizations before, but he could not explain the fierce resentment that coursed through him The anger that kept him warm, when nothing else could. Benny kept taking his letters out and putting them back in his pocket. Eric watched him, knowing what was on the boy's mind but allowing him to form the words he needed. "It's true, huh Eric?" Benny didn't look up. "Yeah....but not everythin'' the racoon heard the words but felt detached from the whole situation. The unspoken resignation, painful in it's complexity, said more than Eric could. "Never got a chance to mail these, if they had extended my leave the dirty....." on and on, Benny used some phrases that would have made a sailor blush. "It's not too bad. You'll mail them when you get back....." Eric folded his arms and stood, his back against the trench wall, fervently wishing he could think of a better lie than that. Silence. Eric cleared his throat suddenly. Benny looked up at the muttering, as Eric mentally kicked himself for saying it in the first place. "I appreciate it......" "Yeah, sure......" Silence again. Benny had already asked all of the appropriate questions that could be used here. Family, sweethearts, the future.......they belonged to nights of boredom and hope, not here. All that belonged here was resignation and Eric had fought it with more energy than he had. It still reigned supreme. The call, it would come soon. Now they were crouching in the position at the edge of the farthest trench wall, like sprinters about to run, by far, their most difficult race. Benny yelled something to Eric as the shelling began and the awkward bundle found it's way into the racoon's hands. The whistle blew.......he had dropped them......_how_ could he have dropped them? Up and over, did Eric remember to tell the kid not to look to his left or his right? It was too unnerving, just run, it didn't matter where. Bullets rang out, still they kept running, Eric saw his destination, felt the anger, then the adrenalin, and he was there. Blinking, shocked he saw.......men all around him. By the stars, his own unit!! A few missing, but Benny clapped his shoulder, hooting and waving his gun. Cheers rose up from the taken trench and men waved their arms wildly. Eric continued to look around him in a daze, then slowly, a wide grin overtook his features. They had made it. Perhaps.....he had been wrong. Maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and they could find a way out of this abyss that had surrounded them for so long. Eric yelled and cheered with the rest of them, slapping Benny on the back as the kid shouted out unintelligable phrases to ears that could not possibly hear it over the noise. Then.....the real battle began. Most didn't even see where the shells had hit, but suddenly, Eric found himself attempting to breath through layers of dirt, the trench collapsing, falling to pieces over his head. Clawing his way to the surface frantically, he felt an arm.......and pulled as hard as he could. Benny emerged with him as both coughed and sputtered, gasping, not daring to look at the flattened landscape that had once been lined with trenches. Eric didn't want to think of the ones that had been occupied. Pushing and pulling, oblivious to the explosions, all the while trying to control his fear or at least, his flashbacks that plagued him, of other times, just like this one. It was all too familiar. He pulled Benny to his feet violently slapping the boy's back as the dog continued to choke on the soil he had accidentally breathed in. Eric grabbed his friend's elbow and began to run, not hearing Benny's protests, not caring. He had to reach their own trench, if it still existed. Benny stumbled and tripped, sometimes letting the racoon drag him along. Eric realized that the kid was probably badly hurt, but all that mattered was reaching a place of relative safety. He felt a sharp sting as barb-wire easily sliced through the material of his uniform. Scornfully he kicked it away, then began the torturous task of untangling Benny, who did what he could to help before finally fading to unconsciousness. Eric cursed and screamed at the boy after finally disengaging him from the menace that lay everywhere, all around them. Still, Benny would not get up and run. Eric continued to drag him, far past where their original trench should have been, but was no longer. He continued, he wanted to reach the blackened grove that could offer some shelter, if it was still there by the time he reached it. Shells came frighteningly close, kicking up gravel, allowing him to acknowledge their presence by the shrill sound, the bits of sky that cut into him at times as they fell, and landed. Then, nothing.......... The lights were bright and painful. Eric's body was sore, and he opened his eyes to see a pretty, young nurse standing over him with a damp rag, wiping his forehead. He immediately thought of Benny, how the kid must be enjoying this kind of treatment. Too bad he himself was already engaged. These kind of thoughts, instead of cheering him up, seemed grotesque. "How are you feeling?" She had a soft voice, like his Victoria, but it still carried authority. "How's my friend?" He countered, not caring that he had made it. He always made it. It was his lot in life, he supposed. "I don't know your friend" she stated in that patronizing tone all the nurses used. "Young boy? Tall....y'know. Whoever found me must've....." Eric trailed off as a deep sadness filled the nurse's eyes, overflowing onto her cheeks. *Well, blast it! Hadn't meant to make her cry.* "You were the only one brought here. I don't believe anyone else was found....." She didn't actually say it. For even that much, Eric was grateful. Tell my ma....... How could he? He couldn't find his friend's letters, and.........and he had foolishly, so stupidly allowed himself to care. He was so young.....how could Eric look at this world around him without spitting on it? How could he ever tell another family, then another.....that someone they watched for was never coming back. It just went on, he was sickened, he couldn't do this. He was responsible, maybe if he had been able to reach the trees, maybe if he'd gone in another direction. They would condemn him, he condemned himself. His responsibility. 


	3. Chapter 3

"Sphere of Influence" E-Mail: Alyson Terry Copyright. The Walt Disney Corporation, 1990-91. TaleSpin and all of it's characters are the property of the Walt Disney Company and I'm sure if one of the brilliant creators of the greatest cartoon series of all time were to read this they would curse me and my disillusioned brain for mutating their beloved creation in so abstract a way. Oh well, artistic interpretation, get over it.  
  
April 24, 1945 Kit was never more relieved to see the sun go down. Never, never in all of his wretched memories of going without food and shelter, of being the street urchin without a place to call home or worse.....without anyone who cared, had he ever experienced anything like the past few days. The young pilot had completely lost track of the hours......of anything. He had never felt so lost or so misplaced as he had searching desperately for food, after a completely disheartening and fruitless search for Robert, whom he'd not been able to locate, under or anywhere near that pile of rubble that had once been a hospital. He'd searched until he could no longer move, his pain-wracked body giving out on him, for one full day. The day he really remembered, a sunrise and a sunset. Then.......darkness. He remembered vaguely trying to crawl for a distance. Occasionally he would black out, his physical condition not allowing him to do all the things he needed to do, let alone wanted to do. He didn't know this city, it was a death-trap anyway. Once in a while he would hear a call, or someone crying loudly, but he saw so few people that it barely registered. Besides, Kit was dangerously thin, skin and bones. Tall and gangly, the lack of food had certainly taken it's toll on his appearance. It actually helped him to blend in with the filthy, fatigued individuals who walked around him as though they were in a dream. Kit couldn't remember any of their faces, it was enough of a challenge to keep moving. The scraps of food he was able to find to keep him from collapsing completely should not have been fit for consumption under any circumstance, but his body craved only the food, and sporadic rest. Frankly the young man didn't know for how long he'd be able to keep it up. The constant bombardment, the overall atmosphere of terror that prevailed everywhere, and the unspoken phantom...... The Thembrians were coming. The few stragglers that Kit noticed in the corner of his mind seemed frightened, all were going somewhere else.....hiding, even if the blocked off city offered no escape. Not even for him. If any of these citizens recognized the emblem on his uniform, they didn't show it. All that mattered, was survival... He'd seen older women, teenagers, children, all dirty and terrified. Some had a gray, bleak expression, they were the ones who had given up and would place themselves on the mercy of those who would eventually take this city. Occasionally a clear, penetrating thought would make it through Kit's mental fog of hunger and pain. Like in the hospital.....God, they were all so very young? Was what Robert said true? Was this all that was left? Then......how could he blame them? How could they then be his enemy? Hadn't they suffered as much as the ones who were fighting against them? Lost as much? Yet.....no one on the other side had committed such atrocities as the vague, faceless rumors that had chilled his blood, right? Then again, the Thembrians, for all of his admiration of their bravery and determination, their ability to turn the tide of the war, well......to be honest, their past and their _glorious_ cause wasn't exactly what one would call humane. The young pilot didn't need this confusion. What he really needed was someplace to sleep, a decent meal, even some medication for his constant pain, in his ribs, in his head. But the thoughts wouldn't release him. And he was, unfortunately, aware of them, even if at times he was aware of nothing else. A sharp pain, easily recognizable now, hit him in the gut and Kit felt a wave of dizziness hit him. No luck today, finding anything......today, how many days since he'd crashed? Since he'd seen Baloo and Rebecca? In spite of himself, homesickness overwhelmed him. More than anything else, he wanted to go home. He no longer felt cowardly or responsible. He felt as insignificant as anything possibly could under these circumstances. This didn't look good........he'd been unsuccessful in finding anything to eat today. It showed. Hysterics, an emotion completely foreign to him hovered around the edges of his subconscious. He had to find something, or he wouldn't make it. The young pilot sat down on the curb of the street, rubble and dust all around him. He'd become so accustomed to it, he barely noticed anymore. Without thinking about it, the bear put a hand on his head, remembering suddenly what was there. He'd found the hat in the crumbled remains of the hospital. Any other sign of Robert though.....completely gone. Kit had barely registered in that place that he'd been wearing his uniform, still was wearing it actually, though it had certanly seen better days. Thinking, remembering....the young man simply sat there, not noticing the hours that slipped by, his body now too exhausted even to cry out for food. There wasn't anything around here, anyway. All Kit wanted was to sit and lose himself for an instant. For once, just once, he would give in and not try to see the bright side of things. It seemed completely hopeless, and he was beyond feeling any desire to fight against the devastation that was sucking him in. Opening a floodgate, several memories confronted the pilot. One seemed so recent, he could remember every detail of it.~ Kit stood at the door of Higher for Hire and gulped. He'd known he was supposed to check in, call.......something.....but, he was 16! And for most of his life he'd acted like an adult anyway.......so why _should_ he feel guilty for wanting to spend some time with his friends? He was just acting like.......like a typical teenager, right? That was what Becky......er, Miz Cunningham, Kit corrected himself not wanting to break too many boundaries too quickly, and Baloo were always telling him to do. Kit put a hand on the doorknob, he took if off quickly, as though it had burned him. _Why_ was he feeling this way? Just.......just because technically Baloo was his dad, that didn't mean their relationship had changed that much since he'd first met him. Kit winced. The pilot was going to be livid, there was no fooling himself. But......Kit was growing up, and he had the right to hang out with anybody he darned well pleased, for as long as he wanted. The boy put a hand back on the doorknob, taking a deep breath, steadying himself. *Dammit! Faced pirates, storms.....everything! Shouldn't feel this way........* How did he feel? Guilty, doggone it, especially after glancing at his watch. 10:37.......not too late, but still, it _was_ much, much later than he was usually. And he hadn't bothered to let anyone here know where he was either. That didn't exactly help matters. Kit gritted his teeth and pushed the door open. Absolute silence ensued in the room as Baloo jumped out of the arm-chair, losing several years on his face in one minute. Kit looked at him sheepishly before shutting the door quietly and turning around, angry at his shame. He turned back as he heard.....Miz Cunningham's voice? It was a little shaky, well....actually quite angry. Kit heard her mutter into the phone. "Never mind.....he's here now. Yes, thank you, sorry to have bothered you." The phone was slammed back down again in fury. Kit took his baseball cap off, habitually grasping it and twisting it tightly. This didn't look good, what was Miz Cunningham still doing here? Baloo crossed his arms and leaned against Rebecca's desk. That particular lady placed both arms down on the same desk. Both directed two very angry glances at the young man standing in the middle of the room. "In case yer wonderin' Britches, she came on over when I got desperate an' couldn't think of anyone else ta call, not that I know about a whole heap 'o options anyway. Got kindof worried when you didn't come home, so........." Kit swallowed. It shouldn't have surprised him that Baloo knew he'd been thinking. He should be used to it.......but it could be unnerving at times. "I-I'm sorry......where's Molly?" Kit forced his voice to remain level, steady. "_Molly_ is with Wildcat. I brought her. I couldn't very well leave her alone, not even after I get another phone call about you being missing!" Kit scowled. He wasn't used to hearing that sharp edge in Miz Cunningham's voice. At least, he wasn't used to it being directed towards him. He felt a stab of annoyance. Baloo spoke up. "Where were you Kit? An' it better be good, especially after what you've put us through." The words grated against Kit full-force, almost more so than Baloo's tone. "I was with some friends..." Unconsciously Kit also folded his arms, his expression matching Baloo's. "Uh....um, I think you both ov-over-reacted...." the words were out, Kit couldn't take them back, not that he really wanted to at the moment. It wasn't.....disrespectful. This time the boy felt that it was true. Rebecca countered this time. "Kit, do you honestly expect us not to worry? Especially with.......things that have happened before?" Kit finally lost his temper, a rare event when it came to Rebecca. "What?! Do I have a record around here now?!!" "Kit....we were jus' worried....." "For cryin' out loud, both of you! I'm 16!! I lived on my own a long time before I ever came here. You shouldn't fly off of the handle every time I don't act like the perfect little kid you both want me to be!!" Baloo's hands dropped as he opened his mouth to speak. Rebecca beat him to it. "We have a right to worry, just like you have an obligation to try and have some consideration for our feelings. Really......how could you make us worry....not even letting us know anything?" Baloo had an eyebrow raised at Rebecca's constant we's and us'. It wasn't exactly unpleasant for him to hear it.. "You......you know better, and it doesn't matter how old you are, we're still going to worry......" "She's right, Kit" Baloo added. For one moment, Rebecca looked over at him and gave him a small smile. Finally, something they could both agree on out in the open. The navigator felt as though he was being ganged up on by both adults. He started to shake, a typical reaction for him whenever he let his anger take over. "What you did was irresponsible, then you turn around an' git all defensive jus' because we happen to worry, an' you happened to mess up. Even if it was jus' tonight......you need ta remember that ya still live here.....an' not forget it when it all convenient for ya" Baloo and Rebecca's twin expressions of superiority completely enraged Kit. He was old enough to think and make decisions for himself. He didn't like being accused or being told that he "messed up", like he was some troublemaker who didn't know how to do one thing right. Before he realized it Kit had stomped over to the bottom of the stairs, still ready for a fight. Rebecca and Baloo looked very tired as the large bear helped her with her coat. For some reason, their casual acceptance of things, even their letting the fight go as though it was inevitable that they would encounter it infuriated Kit even more. "You both....." the boy began, his teeth clenched, "are not in any position to tell me what I can or can't do. I'm old enough to leave this place whenever I want...I don't need you condescending attitude..." "Kit, watch it...." Baloo's tone held a note of warning at Kit's vocabulary but the boy kept going, despite the look on Rebecca's face. "And I don't need your rules. If you don't trust me, then I don't have any reason to try and make you. Just get off of my back......I-I don't think it was ever either of your places to try and tell me what to do. I'm the one who's always gotta fix things with _you_...." Baloo almost flinched as Kit pointed at him. "An' your supposed to be my dad?! Why don't you act like it!" "Kit!!" Rebecca gasped. The cub felt something give in inside of him, but still his anger remained in control. "I always have to tear you two apart, so how am I supposed to take anything you say seriously?! I'm tired of first having to fix things when both of you 'mess up', then having to turn around and follow your rules when I don't respect either one of you....." Kit was stomping up the stairs. He could not believe that those words had actually come out of his mouth. So many times, he couldn't even count them actually, he'd wanted to say something, anything, about how frustrated and tired it made him feel when these two put him in that all too familiar position. Instead of release however.....he felt indescribably worse. The tension of the room wouldn't let him walk away. Well why hadn't he just ripped both of their hearts out and stomped on them. Kit turned when he heard Baloo's footsteps behind him. He felt......bad, terrible. Just words, and they didn't begin to go into how sorry he was. Even worse still, though, was the fact that no one there could deny the element of truth in his outburst. He'd never wanted to let either of them know how much it bothered him at times. They....they weren't perfect. But he loved them. He loved them both......very, very much. They were the only family he'd every really known. But there was also his pride, that horrible trait that he just couldn't allow himself to give up. Finally, the cub turned around. Rebecca was wiping her eyes with a tissue. Kit felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He'd made Miz Cunningham cry.....and it was certainly on purpose this time. Baloo looked sad as he stared down at his navigator. Kit's guilt showed on his face so plainly that the bear really didn't expect an apology. He knew that the boy just had a great deal of emotional baggage at times. He also knew that Kit was right. And it made the large pilot feel totally helpless. If he wasn't in any position to guide Kit, or tell him what he thought the boy needed to do.....then what _was_ to be done? Regardless of whether Baloo or Rebecca were expecting it. Kit stammered, trying to find his voice, before finally saying, "Papa Bear? I-I didn't m-mean that. R-really, I'm sorry. I don't want......" Kit's voice broke, but neither Baloo nor Rebecca leaned over to hug him. They let him have his distance this time, despite how difficult it was. But Kit had crossed a line. He was growing up. And this one time, he needed to move on and find his own strength and support. "I j-just want you b-both to be proud of....." "We are honey" Rebecca stood at the foot of the stairs, her heart melting at Kit's expression. Gone was the tough, teenager attitude. He looked sad.....even a little lost. He had no idea of the power of his words. How much they had hurt. Or maybe he did, but couldn't face them right now. He couldn't take them back. Baloo and Rebecca had perhaps provoked it, but what he said opened up some new doors. Kit finally managed to stutter and blurt out a promise to always call, let them know, etc., etc. He even apologized again, saying good-bye to Rebecca as she left with her daughter. That lady felt a stab of pain, familiar. She recognized the heart-felt emotion that Kit managed to wear on his sleeve. It was worse now. She comforted him as best she knew how, then regrettably left, not knowing how the two individuals that remained behind would handle things now. Baloo was about to learn a bitter lesson. Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment. He'd probably already learned it. His expression when he'd looked at Kit..... With a sigh, the businesslady headed home. There wasn't much to be said at Higher for Hire after Miz Cunningham had left. Baloo seemed far away, and Kit had learned to dread the bear's mood whenever he got like that. It was too easy for the pilot to remain in his rut.......and now more than ever, Kit didn' t know how to get him out. He said he was sorry one more time, then Kit had walked up the stairs, knowing that he'd hurt Baloo with more than just his words, but not knowing how to make things better. The boy couldn't have known the pain the gray bear was feeling at finally realizing that Kit needed space.....and he needed room to grow up. Baloo followed his navigator up the stairs, turning off the light as both climbed into their own beds. Kit closed his eyes tightly, unable to block out his own accusing voice. His words, they hung in the air all around him.. It would take some time for them to dissappear. Kit heard Baloo's bed creak as the large pilot got out of it and stepped over to him. "Li'l Britches......" "Yeah, Baloo?" Kit's voice was still unsteady. "Forgit about what happened tonight. I know what ya said was said jus' cause you were mad. Everyone does stuff like that once in a while.....I love ya, you know that?" Kit nodded, hugging the bear tightly, who gladly returned the embrace, feeling as though there was a vice around his heart. He'd really taken for granted all of the times when Kit was younger, and not worried about such displays of affection. Baloo felt a twinge at what was now gone. "Kit.....no matter what.....I'll always forgive ya. Ok? You're.....er, my son. I'm guessin' that means something." Kit nodded. He hoped that all of this would pass, but he would never forget. Not the words he'd said, or what Baloo was telling him now. Never forget.~ It was dark. Did Kit really care? No.....but it was cold, and his body needed food, though the constant discomfort in his stomach had not yet reached that level of agony that he identified with danger. There were different degrees of suffering....and starvation. But he needed to keep moving. Staying in one place here was exceedingly dangerous. As though in answer to his thoughts, Kit heard the familiar whistling. Shells.....bombardment.....incoming. The building behind him collapsed in a dazzling display of shattered glass and crumbling walls, the foundation even seemed to dissolve in on itself. Kit found himself being knocked off of his feet. His body, especially his poor, mistreated ribcage, cried out in protest as he made contact with the hard cement. Sharp stings occassionally bit at him, as the glass made contact. Kit didn't have the energy to run, so he dove for the nearest shelter he could. A building only a few feet away from the crumbling mess that had been hit suddenly erupted into flames. Kit watched with horrified fascination as the fire retreated then exploded with devastating fury. All along the block, buildings were going up. Now, all of the ones whom he'd never encountered, all of those who had huddled in one of these death- traps, hoping to get lucky each time that shrieking, shrill warning went over their heads, came running out. There was screaming, crying out, mayhem everywhere. Kit felt himself being joustled, yet no one offered to help him along. People were running for their lives, nearly running the young pilot over as he struggled to stem the tide of frantic individuals who were threatening to trample him. Kit found himself being pushed down the street, regardless of whether he wanted to go there or not, but he didn't mind, as long as he didn't trip or lose his balance. He could think of few things worse than being crushed by several apathetic feet who would not care, if they even remembered, what had happened. At least this way he was actually moving away from the scene, but it seemed as though the bombs and the shelling were following them. Kit heard a low buzzing, and recognized the sound's origin immediately. Three B-24 Liberators that looked as though they were right on top of him showed themselves, then gained altitude as more buildings seemed to disappear into clouds of dust and debris. Strategic bombing......Kit never thought he'd be victim to it. . The former navigator was pushed along for a time before finally being shoved completely out of the crowd, stumbling and gasping onto the sidewalk, trying to catch his breath. The young pilot placed his hands on his knees, waging a war with his own body, trying to will himself to stay conscious, though he kept blacking out. Kit awkwardly half-walked half-crawled over to the bombed out structure behind him, placing a hand on the wall. Even that could be decieving as Kit felt himself fall over, coughing as the bricks gave in, some falling from above, painfully hitting his back and legs. The young man tried to wipe the dust out of his eyes, cursing at his luck, when he heard some light crying and some much sterner shushing from inside the pitch-black enclosure. Squinting and pushing the hair out of his eyes, Kit gradually saw some shapes emerge before his eyes. There were five children sitting there, four of whom didn't look to be older than ten. Two boys, three girls, all dirty, bone-thin and frightened, with huge eyes. The youngest, a small boy was sniffling. But Kit let all of his attention rest on the girl standing in front of the small group. She looked to be in her mid to late teens. She was filthy and bruised, with a hard scowl on her face. She......was the ringleader. All of the children were wearing clothes that looked as though they'd seen better days, but the quality was still apparent. Whatever situation they were in now, they hadn't been in it for very long. Kit slowly tried to get up, realizing how ridiculous he must look sprawled out like that. Two of the children whimpered as he took another step inside. The girl, it was a safe assumption too that she was the oldest, stepped closer to Kit. Her face didn't look any better when it was twisted with hatred like that. She began to scream and yell at the young man pointing outside from time to time. Although Kit didn't understand a word of what she was saying, it didn't take much for him to get the general meaning. He put his hands up and stepped back, hoping that they would somehow understand that he didn't mean them any harm. It didn't work. The girl came closer. She was either crazy or fearless from her terror and obviously she cared nothing for her own safety as she stood in front of the other children. Kit, his eyes slowly adjusting more and more to the darkness and the chill, noticed something that quite possibly was the cause of the girl's dramatic protests and language, despite the fact that he couldn't understand. There were several loaves of bread, that's all, in the middle of the small group. Kit saw them....and his stomach painfully twisted as he stared, gradually seeing nothing else. These children were very thin true, but Kit very much doubted that they were as hungry as him. He began to take a few steps closer, then reached out to grasp one of the loaves, oblivious to the cries of fear and the dirty, smudged, but still innocent faces that looked at him......like he was....some sort of a villian. The girl grabbed his arm and attempted to pull him back. She was surprisingly strong, but it didn't take much to overpower Kit these days. He was still much stronger and he grabbed one piece of bread. One of the younger boys tried to take it back from him, and with the girl pounding on his arm and trying to pull him back, Kit felt his patience give in. He'd done everything he could to try and help people, and where had it gotten him? Here, that's where. He was starving......and he had a right to live just as much as these people did. He knew what it was to be hungry, he'd already walked down that path. Kit wasn't prepared for the sharp little teeth that sunk into his hand as one of the little girls ferociously attempted to defend their pitiful food supply. A flash of anger clouded the pilot's thinking and, along with the gradual pain in his arm from the older girl still fighting him, and the suspicious looks on the children's faces, he allowed his fury build. It reached it's peak as the oldest girl drew back her arm and struck him full force in the face, the stinging slap echoing in the small room. Kit stared at the girl, not seeing her, not caring as he pushed her back with all of his strength. *They deserve it.....all of them deserve it.....and I-.....* Silence was the only thing that managed to bring Kit back to his senses as he looked at the girl huddled in the corner, holding her arm with a graying face, her limb badly scratched and bleeding. The sour, overpowering emotion in the form of regret and guilt nearly made him sick to his stomach. She looked younger, with that fear in her eyes. He looked over to the group of children who stared back with those huge eyes full of another discovered fear. He felt like some kind of a monster. Looking at the bread in his hand, Kit thought he had reached the lowest point in his life. He'd come here to help, now look at him.......just take a look at what he was. He let his eyes rest on one of the little boys who stared back. Kit didn't see him.....he saw someone else. Someone who had had nowhere to turn, who had known what it was like to live in a hovel, or in the gutter, without anyone to care. What he'd looked like.....what he had been, before someone had found it in themselves to step out and give him so much.......more than he could have ever imagined until this moment. Kit felt his heart sink as he stepped closer to the older girl, watching her expression as she winced but valiantly tried to control her fear. She backed up, until there was nowhere else for her to go, and shut her eyes tightly as Kit extended out a hand. Finally, confused at what was happening, she opened her eyes again and looked at him with an unspoken question hanging in the air. Gently, very, very gently Kit took her hand and helped her to her feet. Self-consciously he inspected her arm. *Not so bad.....looks a little sore....but* The girl looked back at him accusingly and Kit backed off. He then picked up the bread he had unwittingly dropped, and placed it back in the pile as the other children stared at him, no longer afraid but curious. One little girl stood up and tugged at the bottom of his uniform, ignoring the sharp comment the oldest girl directed towards her. Kit knelt down, softly sat the child down and tried to form his words carefully. "Usland" All of them looked back at him as though he'd lost his mind. Kit sighed. He tried again. "Usland.....airplane...." He pointed to his hat, then to the sky. As if on cue, the tell-tale buzzing of another aircraft was heard directly over them. One little boy made a wing-like shape with his hands and attempted a buzzing sound, imitating the plane then moving his hands a bit. Kit smiled broadly. Well....a little bit of progress. "Usland...." he repeated, slower this time. The eldest girl pointed in one direction.....Kit stepped back, assuming that she was pointing east. He shook his head. "No...not yet, but soon." The girl seemed to relax a bit. She then pointed in the other direction. Kit nodded once. Still, she didn't smile, only stepped back and folded her arms. Kit gestured with his hands. "Here.....just stay in here...please." He pointed one finger downward, then motioned to the room. For emphasis, he repeated the words. "You need to stay here....." The girl looked at him long and hard, then she pointed to the smaller children before nodding. Kit could only pray that she understood, though he had a good feeling suddenly that she realized much more than just that. Something had been wiped away. Kit gathered up some bricks, stopping to rest as his body protested with the emotions and the adrenalin it had just experienced. He supposed he couldn't blame the others when they didn't lift a finger to help. Wiping his forehead, Kit turned to leave, before feeling someone gently grab his arm. Kit turned and saw one of the little boys holding out a rather large chunk of bread. The young pilot's heart melted as he smiled sadly and shook his head before turning again. Sharp tugging, more insistent this time caused the young man to sigh and turn to stare at the little boy, who didn't seem to want to take no for an answer. All of the others didn't seem to mind as the boy pushed it into Kit's hand. Kit, in turn, felt something crack inside of him. It was such a sweet, selfless gesture. It didn't belong here, in this place. Again, the young pilot stared down at the child's face. Once again.....he could only see someone else. Someday he would ask himself if he could have done it, were the situations reversed. Kit remembered something else as well....or someone else to be more specific. And there was one thing he could associate with, with that day, that new beginning. The young man took off his hat and placed it on the boy. It quickly flopped over his ears, but the child certainly didn't seem to mind as he grinned widely and grasped at the brim. Kit took one last look at the small but courageous group, finally meeting the oldest girl's eyes. She seemed to be fiercely hiding something, but the small smile she managed to leave him with said a great deal.......more than a great deal. It said fathoms. The young pilot turned and headed down the now unrecognizable street, the bread would manage to sustain him for a time.....but for how long, who knew. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ May 5, 1919 The house had been exactly as Eric remembered. The ivy clung to it's walls, the flowers bloomed with a gentle, but not overpowering confidence. The shadows and light on the path told stories of their own, with the clouds high above gently caressing the garden in the form of mist in the early morning and kissing it with rain when the time was right. Through years of loss and ugliness, Eric had carried this picture with him, and it was not of definite shapes and forms but something vague, almost forgotten, it's sweetness in the form of light, love and peace. Down the path he remembered seeing her, the afternoon after a night of laughter and dancing. It seemed decades ago. He himself lived not so far away, but he had never known her, not even by sight, until that night, then those hours in the dying sunlight. Magic, with it's warmth, it's muted colors, and all of it's connections to a world long since gone. Dusk, then twilight. And he had walked through the fire to return here, to form a new life. He still clung to the past hopes and dreams like a life- preserver, even though their value was now gone. His reunion had been tearful and happy in the beginning. She'd been faithful, there really hadn't been any doubt on his part towards that. But all of the gentleness, the concealed depth that had offered his first and strongest attraction were dead in him. So hidden, he didn't even realize what he had lost, fortunate to be spared that added pain. She was waiting for him again, in another time it would have stirred something.......to compare what was then, and what was now. But the tension and gradual coldness between them could no longer be hidden or explained away, so she had asked him here. It was her home, given to her by first, her grandparents, then her parents when she married. The darkened windows caused a faint uneasiness to overtake Eric as he made his way to the bench in the garden. At times....different times, he only felt welcome here, and nowhere else. Not in this town, who had first celebrated his return, then avoided him and all that he reminded them of. What could he have if he didn't have this solace? He would return to his flying......but, then what? What was his life? Change, withdraw further, it was a vicious cycle. He would never again be free from it. Victoria, his fiance, sat quietly as such was her nature, her hands folded and safely hiding the agitation she was sure to be feeling inside. She was not considered a beauty. Her features had no outstanding vibrancy, nor any memorable quality. Everything was demure, reserved and unobtrusive. She was as proper as the era from which she was named and to Eric, she had seemed a living link to a past no longer thought of. She was too tall, too thin. At times, too gangly, but her gentle nature allowed her room for clumsiness. Nobody noticed. It was her eyes that Eric had first fallen in love with, if anything. They were large and expressive, full of light. Eric compared them to a full moon on a winter night, they had that irridescent quality. At times, they were all one could see. She could tell the best story without saying a word and the depth Eric had first detected was what had drawn him like a magnet. It wasn't a hidden fire that he saw, dying quickly through it's own strength and intensity, but something deep, enduring, like still waters, crystalline and pure. And no one had understood it. Eric had been considered quite good-looking, despite his lack of suave manners. He could have had his pick of any number of girls. But he had seen what real beauty was, in the form of character. And they had been very happy for a time. But what had been enough then now seemed empty and false, like the finest bound book with nothing on it's pages. Quietly he sat down on the far end of the bench. Neither spoke, the leaden feeling in Eric's heart made it difficult for him to trust his emotions and resulting words. She spoke first in that quiet voice that strangely enough, could bring the harshest shouting to silence. "Eric......you know how glad I am you're safe. I don't ever wish you to think I didn't want you to return. Never, not now and certainly not then had I ever felt that way. There were so many girls, some my friends that......" She stopped for a moment. "I'll probably always love you, the you that left on that train." She was crying now, openly, but Eric felt no sympathy. He really couldn't be blamed, it was a difficult enough thing for him to battle with the consuming pain at her words. "But......Eric." She turned to look at him. There was so much regret in her eyes and.......something more. All of the things a girl like her desired, the more precious years of her life, were gone, vanished with the waiting and the inability to return to that old world that beckoned. She was not bitter, but the sadness was a weight that crushed all of the optimism for the years to come. "Eric" He didn't respond. Again, those eyes filled and overflowed. "The person I waited for is never coming back. He left.....and you returned in his place" The words carried no spite nor were they designed to hurt him. They both simply knew that the words were true. "Y-You've changed.......and I don't want to marry a stranger, especially someone who doesn't have anymore love to give." That finally prompted a response, more than the quiet weeping that ensued for a time. "I'm really still the same. I still love you......that hasn't changed" It was a lie, inappropriate and out of place and she slightly shook her head. She gently pushed a small ring into his hand and he glanced down at it, numbly. She watched the stony expression on his face with concern and even a little fear. "It was terrible, wasn't it? Even from your letters, I could feel....." She didn't finish. She didn't understand. Eric still respected her because she didn't pretend to. He thought he had felt every kind of agony, but it was nothing compared to the cold emptiness he felt now. It was the last time he ever saw her standing on that path. "Victoria." She paused, the kindness on her face making it hard to believe that anyone had ever considered her plain. "I thought of you, every day. That part of me is still here" He put a finger on his chest. Victoria put the back of her hand against one eye, brushing back the tears that continued to come. With a strong light in her eyes, she walked back over to him quickly. With one movement she grasped the ring and held it between thumb and forefinger for him to see. "Do you remember when you gave this to me?" she asked, her voice ringing out clearly. Eric gazed at the ring, but all that he saw were miles of trenches, shells, holes and the ever-present destruction. "No" he said softly, not meeting her eyes. "When you remember, find me. I will always love the one who gave it to me. This is mine until then....." Eric did not begrudge her the object, nor did he raise his head as he heard her walk away. It was all she could take away, to carry, to remind her of what could have been, even if she could not escape what now existed. She wore it until another war raged through the country that was both of their homes. For Eric, it would take a hundred lifetimes before he would be able to grow a new heart, or so he believed. The house sold the next month, before a bomb claimed it twenty years later. Not even here, did peace last. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ April 26, 1945 The wind whipped around the clouds, unseen, but still a forceful presence in itself, as it buffeted the mud-splattered, dingy soldiers who leaned into it, having learned long ago which battles to fight and which to simply let go. The gray sky seemed angry as it stared down, and the pilot almost didn't recognize the slate-colored sphere above him, though it was home. Nor did he belong here, in this hole of exhaustion and bitterness. He could feel that sky's pity as it stared sadly down at the earth it had once known so well, now ripped and torn beyond recognition. Here in.....um.....*Where the hell am I anyway?* Baloo scowled, looking down the road he was standing close to disinterestedly. Another camp, an outpost actually. A stakeout spot for those coming through and heading to the river. Baloo sighed and with a motion of exasperation, clamped one large hand over his cap to keep it from blowing away while turning his head disinterestedly to the sounds of yelling accompanied by the occasional curse as tent flaps blew crazily, tables tipped and miscellaneous objects went tumbling over the dusty ground, all moved by the same unseen force. And Baloo knew how they felt, oddly enough. As much as he resisted, as hard as he had tried to avoid, deny, or flat out refuse to acknowledge the existence of this same element that moved people the world over, it had caught up to him......and now he was at the heart of it, involved and tossed about as carelessly and apathetically as the rest of them. Baloo walked quickly over to a group of unshaven, haggard-looking soldiers struggling to hold a tent down against the coming cloudburst. The gray bear easily held the main wall down as the other young men looked at him gratefully, beginning the work of staking the bothersome thing down. The soldiers were young of course, but when they smiled it seemed to change their formerly grim countenance so that they looked to be no more than mere boys, barely old enough to be shaving, let alone doing the work that they did here. For the space of one moment, a barrier slipped away and the pilot seemed no longer the observer or the one circling this horror coming to a close, but was now a permanent part of it, for better or for worse. The sky, still unfamiliar, opened up with a curtain of rain, it seemed to be weeping fitfully for what had been beneath it for almost a decade. Why it would seem unfamiliar suddenly to Baloo was a question that had been answered long ago. Freedom, another existence up there, but tie yourself down to the cares, troubles, events.......and most of all, the people that existed here on solid ground was to be forever held close to it, by the bonds of earth. The gray bear hadn't minded though. Thy sky could be a cold, lonely companion at times, and he had learned to recognize what was meant to be sacrificed and what should remain. With a start Baloo realized that he was alone, the other gentlemen having much too much to do with their time but without the time to do it. Shaking his head to clear the fog, the bear glanced at his wrist, rolled his eyes remembering and looked around him, unable to even guess at the time with no visible sun. As much as he could tell, comsidering the comparatively quiet atmosphere, it was still pretty early in the day, within that strange position which is neither too early, nor too late, but waiting impatiently to be one or the other. Eric was heaven knows where, keeping to himself as usual and offering no explanation. Thinking of the racoon, Baloo almost grimaced. He'd met some aloof individuals in his life, but the Lieutenant had a wall, nearly visible, constructed around him, which had no chinks, gaps or even any doors with which civilities or even a decent conversation could penetrate through. And it wasn't as if the bear hadn't tried. After his conversation with Max, after drudging up recollections of his own, even after the brief, standoffish but always interesting chats with the racoon himself, Baloo's curiousity had reached it's peak, despite the constant nagging worry that ate at his subconscious like acid. Eric knew something. There was no doubt anywhere of that. And yet, here they were spinning their propellors and not going anywhere. No information, no leads, no nothing. Suddenly the large pilot was reminded of something he had yet to do. Something well-known but nameless hit Baloo in the gut, causing a lump that felt as though it was choking him. What would he tell Rebecca just had to be the same thing, even today and frustration seemed to be one of the many overpowering emotions that swept over the gray bear like a whirlwind. He couldn't stand to hear that tight anxiety in her voice, even over such a long distance, even with the static of the radio. He could hear everything from the hope to the eventual disappointment, the former having grown dimmer and dimmer as time passed. Their conversations had grown shorter as well. Baloo asked but felt disconnected about Higher for Hire, Wildcat, Molly, the rest of them. Rebecca always gave the same answers, and the silence was so bleak that it crushed them both. Kit wasn't there, he may never come back. Sometimes Rebecca's voice had seemed so threaded with something that it almost didn't sound like her own possession. Sometimes the forced bravery and even more hideous, forced cheerfulness caused Baloo more pain than anything else. She shouldn't have to try and protect his feelings, as much as he appreciated it. He knew that she was hurting, so why couldn't he express how sorry he was? Why this false facade of routine that had to be followed? Why couldn't he just allow her to let go, for both of their sanities. She'd been there, growing up with that boy too. In fact, just remembering how much she had been there was astounding. But it had always been this way, and the bear was worried that once something slipped or just a little space was allowed, then everything would come tumbling down, beyond repair or rebuilding. The tent was open, the radio waiting, the knob turned easily, the frequency was the same as always. But Baloo had something plaguing him. Something that had needed to be said, time and time again and yet never was. Rebecca's voice was there, tired, sad but brisk and ready. Baloo sat there for a moment staring at the mike, feeling a little strange but not knowing why. "Baloo?" Nothing "Baloo?!! Are you there? What's wrong?! Did something happen?!" The businesslady's voice was full of fear now, begging Baloo to say no, or to fall back into that routine of inactivity and dead ends. She was too fragile right now for the alternative. The rising fear in her voice snapped Baloo out of his reverie with a guilty start. "Hey Becky.........no, no, I'm fine, jus'....." Silence. "No news?" the woman's distant voice was a perfect monotone. "Becky......um, Rebecca" Rebecca was quiet for a moment. "Baloo? What is it? You sound strange.....what's happened, please just....." "I'm sorry" the words were out before Baloo could call them back, or before he even knew what they were for. He could practically envision Rebecca sitting there at Higher for Hire, blinking in astonishment. "What did you do?" the reply, not quite a monotone now but sounding tired, oh so tired. Baloo scowled for a second before rolling his eyes. "I didn't _do_ nothin'. I'm......well, I jus'.......I think......." He could just about hear Rebecca's fingers drumming impatiently on the desk and even the imagined sound of it was making him nervous. No reply though. A few years back she would've given him a direct order to spit it out. Now she waited, trusting him to finish. That thought brushed against the gray bear like a warm touch, allowing his words to form. "I'm sorry that.......you've had to go through all o' this. I know how ya feel 'bout Kit. Always felt, I jus'......don't know if I ever thanked ya fer bein' there for him.......an' me." "Oh.....Baloo, that's, I...." she was crying. Any other time the pilot would have felt his heart ripped out at the sound. But he knew that it was from a different source, and the fact that it affected her so said.......fathoms. "Baloo, you and Kit, you're both, well.....you know how I always felt, but" she never finished one phrase but she had said more than what could possibly be expressed. Baloo rambled off a position where they would try next, mundane details. But a gap was filled, bringing the two closer, as friends often do who are lucky enough to grow together, instead of apart, through trust and kindness. "Hey.....cheer up boss-lady. An' that's my order for you." Baloo added as a last, parting thought, glad for how easy it was for him to be able to say it and knowing that she needed to hear it. Rebecca laughed. There was something about her laugh that was warm and open, it lifted a mood. Baloo had always liked it, he liked it even more now. "Take care Baloo. Anything new....." "Same to you Becky. Here's to tomorrow, huh?" The simultaneous thought came through, unspoken. The radio ended it's transmission with the familiar click. Here's to tomorrow, Kit's, and all of the other boys here as well. Especially for all of those who would see their homes and the places they loved only in their dreams. The call came, the march went on and the pilot no longer stood beside the road in contempt.....he now would march with them. Baloo rubbed his head tiredly. He felt drained, yet he still wasn't sure why. Maybe because of his own plaguing thoughts that this long journey of hate and loss would never come to a close. Maybe he couldn't take his mind off of those who had lost and given up so much and yet would continually be asked to give more. Standing, Baloo felt very sad and alone suddenly, in this place. He needed something or someone to remind him that desolation didn't last forever. It just seemed that way at times. Funny, he didn't see any soldiers anywhere in that dusty road just outside of his tent, so well traveled, in the middle of so much ruination. He did, however, see a large truck pull up, several nurses in uniform jumping out. Looking at them, Baloo had that familiar, unpleasant emotion hit him, of being old beyond his years. The canvas surrounding the truck hid it's contents as the young woman began pulling out box after box, carrying them away. One stayed, after everything seemed quieted down, and reached inside of the canvas with one hand, speaking softly and gently to whoever sat patiently inside. The gray bear stood by, feeling rather lonely and out of sorts, unnoticed by anyone. He gathered his thoughts together, however, when he saw a thin, white hand followed by an arm clothed in a coat that seemed four sizes too big. Baloo stared, ashamed of himself, yet with the old words of the discovery to the north, that particular soldier's horror and Eric's expression, ringing in his ears and swimming before his eyes. Kit's, um....friend, her father, immediately came to mind. But seeing what he saw jarred him considerably. A polar bear, it was hard for Baloo to try and guess his age, smiled gratefully at the nurse who returned the favor with a shadow of pain in her eyes while she wrapped her arm around those thin shoulders as easily as possible. Baloo felt frozen. Those circles and shadows on that individual's face! The pilot couldn't get over it. Nothing he had ever come into contact with, from sickness to despair, could have caused such a thing as this. He could hear Kit suddenly, his voice young, then growing older, yet always the same. The Alemanians, what was happening, why it had been allowed to happen. It all seemed so close and real.....and frightening, all of a sudden to the bear. In this day and age too. He'd never have believed it. The polar bear, sensing Baloo's gaze, turned to stare back straight- forwardly. No words, not even a smile. The nurse felt her companion halt and looked up to see the cause. She also said nothing, simply stared at the bear with eyes full of questions Baloo knew he couldn't answer. Pain, sadness, even a little anger. The pilot's gaze went back to the polar bear. Slowly, yet deliberately, Baloo raised a hand to touch the brim of his cap. A salute, it seemed anti-climatic, considering what the bear had felt earlier and was feeling now. The other bear still said nothing, yet his eyes flashed for a moment, his face pale and his mouth fixed determinedly. It could not have been an illusion, the fire burning so deep within those eyes. What was respect, deepened, though it's cause was something Baloo didn't understand. Perhaps he never wanted to. Walking away, the pilot turned back. The other pair had vanished but Baloo could still see them in his mind's eye. And Kit's voice still came through loud and clear. "I told you Papa Bear. You just can't turn away sometimes or you're no better than what you're fighting......." "We're responsible, always responsible........."~ "That plane is in worse shape than you! And I can think of few things that are less complimentary, it's a complete pigsty, don't you ever think of _cleaning_ something on your own accord instead of waiting for me to nag at you or even better, letting a customer lodge a complaint. If we started delivering fertilizer I think I would get an order from the Cape Suzette Department of Health to scrub that hunk of tin, in order for our cargo to be sanitary!!" The shorter woman folded her arms determinedly, not willing to let the subject go. Baloo growled, losing his temper with disturbing ease, especially when it came to the combustible combination of Rebecca's nagging, his plane and her constant belittlement of his personal attributes. "Fer the last time, _Miz_ Manager, I don't recall ever askin' yer advice about me, my plane or my bathin' habits. If you don't like it, then you can get outta my way. I'll clean that thing _when_ I got time and not before. Besides, the Duck's still as pretty as the day when I first met her, unlike......" Baloo stopped involuntarily. Rebecca stood waiting for him to say it. It was after all, an extremely obvious, get the better of you, kick you in the stomach low blow and she had left herself wide open for it, something she was not prone to do very often. The pilot didn't finish. There were some things a joe just didn't lie about, Rebecca could always see through his fibs anyway. "She's fine......she's, um...livable. A guy can git comfortable in that plane without gettin' the willies, unlike yer apartment or even this office." The gray bear shook his head sadly, observing what he saw around him. "Can't even recognize the place....times have changed an' not fer the better" "Oh please" the bearess rolled her eyes with a vengeance. "Spare me, if you don't mind. That dump you used to live in was a safety hazard, besides I doubt you even knew about half of the stuff you let accumulate, it was so covered with dust and cobwebs and heaven knows what else. At least somebody who walks in here can see that this place has walls, a floor and other things I'm told a room should have" "Accumu-what? Speak English fer once!" "Get a dictionary. It's over there, _labeled_, where it...should.....be. Y'know, organization. Let me know if I'm going too fast for you" Baloo only grumbled before turning around, his expression sour before changing in a heartbeat as the door opened, the easy-going pilot's dominant personality taking over and forgetting the quarrel at the sight of...... "Baloo! Hey, didn't know you were gonna be here." The gray bear felt his face break into an ear-splitting grin as his erstwhile navigator, almost pilot, not to mention almost as tall as the he was, came rushing through the door, dumping his schoolwork and bag into a messy heap on the floor, which Rebecca merely raised an eyebrow at, her eyes never really leaving her paperwork in front of her. *How did she get back there so fast?* The fleeting thought was knocked out of Baloo's head. That pilot snickered before putting an arm around the tall young man, who brushed back his thick, almost unrully hair with a practiced guesture. "Yup Kit-boy, had some time ta spare an'......uh, my other job wasn't needin' me at the moment." A snort, obviously meant to be audible, was heard from the wily businesslady's desk as Kit took a step away from Baloo's friendly hug to raise an eyebrow of his own at his father. That individual shrugged as a sheepish grin tugged at his features. "Well, Louie said things would be pickin' up later, whaddya say, Lil.......uh, Kit?" Baloo stopped himself in time, grimacing as he remembered Kit's former, adament, instructions. The boy looked at him excitedly before slapping the larger pilot's hand. "All right! An' it's about time, too!! Bet Louie, uh.....well, maybe he's been asking 'bout me?" The insecure question in the young man's voice caused a chuckle to well up in Baloo, who was surprised to always find himself forgetting how endearing some of the former navigator's mannerisms could be. A loud *Ahem* was heard form a certain lady's location and both fly-boys turned their heads towards it as Baloo finished mussing the young man's hair, under protest, in response to Kit's earlier inquiry. "Kit......" Rebecca's voice, slow and cautious, made itself heard, almost under protest. "Don't you have things to do? I was in high school once...." Rebecca kept her eyes on the boy's face, waiting expectantly, oblivious to her other employee's dark scowl. Kit could have denied it, it would have been normal behavior for any teenager who was ready for a good, rollicking party. But Kit had never been an ordinary boy. And she trusted him for a reason, allowing him to speak and make decisions for himself because of the integrity she saw and so deeply respected in him. Baloo pushed his cap back tiredly, knowing full well what Kit would do, and frustrated because of it, although unwilling to change the boy's nature. Instead, he stepped back, fumed and bided his time. "I do......er, have some stuff I'd better do, an', um.....I got school tomorrow. It's gettin' so that I forget sometimes. Sorry Baloo" Kit couldn't quite return Rebecca's heartfelt smile but he picked up his backpack to head upstairs, smiling slightly but shaking his head at Baloo when the gray bear gently squeezed his shoulder.. Clouds were forming here at Higher for Hire. Rebecca folded her arms with a superior expression Kit knew Baloo would react to, and badly. But the boy had tried for years to act as a go-between, between those two. He had learned to pick his battles, not to mention efforts. And he knew to avoid those he couldn't win in good conscience. Regrettably and more than a little nervously, he made his way up to the bedroom, the tension below creating a static atmosphere that he could feel crawling on his skin already. Luckily the door shut tightly behind him, though more's the pity, the room wasn't soundproof. Baloo clenched his fists and stared at Rebecca, tired but strong with her own sanctimony. She remained silent, wanting to avoid a battle of wills when obviously she was in the right, right? Nothing. The businesslady tapped her foot once, twice, before Baloo finally reacted. He surprised both of them with the tone of his voice. "I thought that I'd finally gotten ya to trust me after all 'o this time, Becky." Rebecca started. Something in Baloo's voice...... No insults, no yelling. He sounded hurt.....strange. "Wha-......Baloo, if you're upset......" Now the pilot _did_ cut her off. "Rebecca, yer my boss. I'm Kit's father......an' on top o' that, I thought we were friends. Was I foolin' myself? I thought that all of those times you supported me an' Kit, or me, or a hundred time jus' him, you knew when ta drop your two cents in an' when to let me do my own thing. But I'm guessin' you think it's not supposed ta bother me that you still think I'm jus' some stupid, irresponsible slob who don't know nothin' 'bout what's best fer my kid." Rebecca wasn't quite speechless, but she felt rather odd......... It wasn't that she was wrong, she hadn't done one thing wrong. Baloo was just feeling sorry for himself, as usual. So.......why did she feel so, so, doggone guilty? Why didn't Baloo get angry, shout at her to stay out of his business, stop being such a busybody, and so on and so forth? The same old argument. She was prepared for it. When Rebecca found that she didn't want to reply to what Baloo had just said, she wondered just how prepared was........and if always expecting it was such a good thing. "I just thought that Kit, on a school night, should do his homework. _I_ want him to graduate, have.......a........future......." the woman trailed off, almost ashamed at her choice of words. It was like she was backing up what Baloo had been saying. Of course, she realized that he wanted the same things for the boy. Regardless of his faults, she had always known that Baloo would give everything he had for Kit and Kit's future. "The kid was lookin' burnt out boss-lady. He needed a break, why didja think I got here early? I wanted ta surprise him, jus' three of us at Louie's, catchin' up on old, new or even in-between times. Would've gotten him back in plenty o' time. But Kit'd never do somethin' if he thought you didn't want 'im to do it, Miz. Manager, so that's that." Rebecca swallowed hard as she felt her self-righteousness crawl back to that place deep inside of her with it's tail tucked between it's legs. She hadn't asked, she'd just assumed. She.......was the responsible one. If Kit's best interests weren't her goal, what was? Showing Baloo up in front of the boy? Nobly picking up after the bear anytime she thought he'd made a mistake? They.......were friends. He'd been one of her closest friends for years. Baloo had trusted her with the most precious thing in his life.....and she wasn't thinking about that orange and yellow contraption outside either. But.....she couldn't return the favor. Baloo took his cap off to set it lightly down on the desk, before flopping down in the patched, red arm chair. Rebecca felt very small suddenly, an unfamiliar emotion streaking like lightning across her heart, more than hurt. She didn't mean to hurt Baloo. In spite of their differences, she felt closer to him than, well, almost anybody. It had been that way for a long time. An unsettling realization about their friendship made her shaky and nervous. It hurt.......worse than a great many things she could imagine to think of ever losing that tie, bond. "Baloo....." The bear turned to look at her, there was still no anger on his face, only a shadow of dissappointment. "Baloo, I'm sorry." "Why Rebecca?" "Why?!" "Yeah. Jus' appeasin' me 'cause I don't feel like havin' a screaming match with ya? Makin' me put down my guard so's you can get the better of me next time.....an' the time after that. You won, 'kay?! Yer better, smarter, more responsible, yada, yada......." "Stop!!" Rebecca cut the pilot off with one word, holding up her hand. "Baloo.......I was.......wrong. I just wanted what was best for Kit and for you. Sometimes I just forget to back off. And I forget that sometimes what's best for both of you. I.....respect you. I didn't ever want you to think anything different. Don't you think I respect anyone who wanted to step outside of themselves the way you have? I don't choose my friends sometimes Baloo. They choose me, in spite of all of my.......um, faults." She saw the small smile cross Baloo's face, still without any malice in it. "You've changed so much since I first met you, and I even liked you then" The pilot laughed at that, joining Rebecca's self-conscious admittance, as she spoke it like some sort of weakness. Then he was standing close to her, something was in his eyes. The businesslady rubbed her temples before daring to grin at him. "Even if you were a loud, over-bearing, chauvanisitc bum" Baloo laughed again, throwins his head back. "I'm sorry I treated you like you didn't have a thought in your head. I'm........just sorry I wasn't able to see past my own......um....." "Ego?" Rebecca stepped back from him, scowling for a moment, before laughing as well. "Ego" she conceeded, before holding out a hand. "Can we be friends again?" Baloo stared at that hand, then at her. With a flash of insight, several emotions hit the bear in the form of a coherent thought. She wasn't beautiful.....she wasn't even that glamorous, but......she had _something_. Baloo never would have thought he could be attracted to a woman like her, but then again, on the same token, he didn't see why not. She was smart, extremely so, and the pilot had always respected her for it, regardless of the roller coaster it sometimes took him on. Rebecca looked a little startled as Baloo gave her an embrace before stepping back, embarrassed and red-faced. That lady scowled slightly and smoothed her hair back. Baloo stammered and stuttered before motioning upstairs. "Uh.....guess, I'll......um, go see what Kit's doin'" Rebecca nodded, smiling. "Fine Baloo, I've got to say goodnight, but be sure to tell him good-bye for me. You two.....have fun at Louie's.........just not _too_ much fun." Baloo stopped on the staircase and beamed at her. "I know I've said it before........but yer all right Beckers." Rebecca waved him away giggling, as she shuffled her near forgotten papers and grabbed her coat. Baloo was still looking at her as she picked up her briefcase to head out of the door. "What? Did I forget something?" She felt a little awkward being scrutinized like that. This was almost.....new territory for the both of them. "Why dontcha come too, Becky? Unless Molly's babysitter objects?" Rebecca just stared at him, unable to see the humor in his little joke, and not quite willing to think that he was serious. "Me? Oh come on Baloo......" "Why not? When was the last time you went out for a night on the town?" The businesslady's eyes twinkled. "With a couple of good-looking boys like you? Oh, probably not since......never." Baloo snickered. Rebecca watched him open the door to the bedroom. Something surged inside of her. What was she doing? Her, Rebecca Cunningham, business major. What about the professional atmosphere necessary for a successful business? All of the lectures and books that leaned towards aloofness and leaving your personal life out of the workplace, especially in the atmosphere she had been forced to start out in, with so much struggle. Now......she had to fight to keep from laughing out loud. What did they know? Any of them. Nothing. This was as much her life as anything else, and it had probably saved her from a very narrow, lonely existence. There was only one regret. The fact that she still felt a little on the outside, kindof like a third wheel in regards to Baloo and Kit. And it hurt terribly in spite of how many times she had told herself that this was how it should be. Someday she might have to let go. But tonight, she was a part of it, of their struggles, sadness and joy, content to be grateful with it. Baloo stepped into the bedroom meekly, observing silently Kit's back facing him as the young man lay quietly on his bed. With a twist, the pilot observed how that well-worn but well loved bed was nearly too small for his former navigator now. When had that happened? He reached over and gently shook Kit's shoulder, feeling rather guilty for waking the boy but also feeling the emotion dissipate as Kit rolled over, quite awake. "It's about time you asked her on your own Papa Bear........you ready to go?"~ Baloo still smiled at the memory, although it caused him some unforeseen pain. He wanted to stay here, sitting, he was tired and discouraged. He foolishly wanted to return to those days, with all of their faults, blurred and forgotten through the space of time and irrational longing. A low rumbling suddenly filled his ears, growing louder, sounding a bit like thunder.....yet, a bit not. He'd heard that sound before, Baloo bet his life on it. But.........what in heaven's name? Before he realized it, the bear was out of the tent, gazing upwards, listening to the shouts of alarm, and aware of the same emotion growing in him. "What the devil is it?!" The pilot yelled, but the soldier nearest him shook his head, confused, his eyes full of fear. Baloo knew the answer anyway, even though he didn't want to. Another soldier, looking a little older, a little more seasoned, came running up behind him, stopping to stare upwards at the long, thin, trail of smoke. The sound of a powerful engine cut Baloo off as he spotted something he hadn't seen in years, especially not in this form. "Tell me that's one o' ours......." came the low remark, almost a question, but not quite. The soldier looked at him, eyes hooded before grinning rather unpleasantly. "The race is on, gramps, an' I think in some areas, we're losin' " Baloo stared at him, the memory of that sound, that sight, still unnamed but growing stronger. He felt more than uneasy..... Sweeping a large hand across the bombarded landscape, the pilot spoke up, his usually robust voice subdued and quiet. "Thought we were winnin'. Pretty close to obvious, dontcha think?" The soldier smirked before growing serious. There was a definite something there......in his own countenance. Something foreboding. "Ever hear o' an old sayin'? Winnin' the battle but not the war? Pretty damn long battle, four years o' this. But don't think we've won, no sir. Just takin' it to the next level." Baloo knew what he meant. He'd been party to both sides at one time. But he didn't like the look of that aircraft, especially considering where it came from. But not even that could hold his attention, with the events he knew in the here and now. Didn't matter anyway........ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
It was the sorriest excuse for scenery that Eric had ever had the mistake of classifying as such. The trees, blackened with soot, dented from shelling and gunfire, the branches bravely looking upward, without a single leaf to call their own, their long, spindly appearance giving the deception of arms outstretched in a pleading question. Asking why it was thus, why their time of peace, prosperity and growth had been interrupted so terribly. Instead of crowned rulers of this broken, battered view, instead of grass and flower, rutted trails and mud, instead of their canopy and their dignity, there was nothing except these grotesque figures, mocking in their ugliness, sad in what they had been and could never be again. Eric was taken back, it had not happened again, it was the first time.......and the years were pushed back as if they were screens of paper, fragile and delicate.....and non-existent after a time. The soldiers, young, all marching to the same tune, in the trenches or along these paths, rain or shine, the call had inevitably come, for whatever reason or justification and so it was that they must follow. The ghosts of those who had fought earlier for this soil, standing beside the lads of today, blurred through the mist of time and error of ways, all that had lit the path to this moment, lived once again. Eric, a part of one, a part of what had come after, now a part of the present, unwilling to aid for the safety of the future, even if it was just one family. Now, forever.....a part of it all, never seperated. The moment passed as the clouds broke for an instant, encircling the Lieutenant in a glow of light and warmth, before leaving nothing to remember itself by as the tired, gray clouds hid that bright circle once more. Brought back to reality gently......and the more grateful for it, Eric observed where he was. Border of Lorraise, the village, nameless bombed out buildings that belonged only to themselves now, no longer bound by words or regulations, or a specific location. He had driven all night, hadn't even told the other boys where he was really going. He didn't know why he was here exactly. It didn't look the same, not even after the German offensive, that last great battle of that last, Eric snorted cynically, Great War, had it looked like this. All of it's beauty, the gardens, the peace......all that had welcomed him, had sustained him for many a lonely year as a veteran in these parts, not caring to go home after what he'd lost there, was destroyed. Families, individuals, children, adult, rolled past him, the lines of half a century of loss etched into some of them. Refugees, fleeing once more, leaving everything, coming back to nothing, rebuilding once again. But with what? Eric felt a sensation of stabbing guilt, powerful and strong. With what indeed, with no one to care, only to act for their own self-interests. The racoon turned his head away. He started when he opened his eyes again, to see a group of young people standing by him. One girl was uncomfortably close. The Lieutenant stepped back. The girl stepped closer. Eric felt claustrophobic and resentful at the expression of pity on her face. *Not _that_ obvious, am I ?!* Besides, he should be feeling sorry for them, not vice versa. Eric stepped back again, almost angrily this time, before hearing the girl say something to the others. So.......she wasn't from here. He recognized her language, but didn't respond. *Should be staying where they belong, if they wanted to stay out of trouble.* Eric shook his head before hearing several voices in the small group begin to rise. Vaguely, though with growing, embarrassed clarity, the racoon began to understand. He wasn't wearing any kind of insignia, but he probably still looked like an officer, with his unmarked uniform and seniority. The girl looked back at him sadly, before placing a restraining arm on one tall, burly youth who was gradually getting louder and harsher as he yelled directly into the face of a young......Eric blinked at that understatement, amazingly young, shepard dog. The girl, even more amazingly, looked younger than him. By God, they were just children, but is was not Alemanian that their burlier, much older- looking companion was speaking. They were from here, the rest of this group, apparently. Things didn't appear to be going very well. A heated discussion turned argument had probably been ensuing between the two Alemanian refugees and their hostile friends. It was now taking a rather nasty turn. Eric felt another, quick stab of guilt at not responding to the girl's inquiry of help, but it was quickly replaced by anger when he fully realized just who, and what, that young shepard dog was, or maybe what he had been, more appropriately. He wanted to turn around, but the girl looked at him pleadingly. Resisting the strong urge to curse, the racoon took a step closer to the growing fray. The young shepard dog, still in the middle of the pair's tormentors, took one look at the Lieutenant and sneered viciously before spitting something out that Eric wasn't sure he wanted to understand. A sharp, rather effective left hook was all he got for his troubles and the dog, now on the ground, his eyes blazing and fearless with hatred, jumped up and pounced on his attacker. It would have been comical to see, considering the difference in their sizes........and probably ages too, if the girl hadn't screamed and physically put herself in the middle of the dust-up, though what she hoped to achieve, Eric could only guess at. He didn't step in to help......why should he? He didn't even know which side he should help anyway. More scuffling, angry words and someone pushed the girl out with a vengeance. She landed awkwardly, dirty and bruised with large, crystal tears rolling down her bedraggled face. Combined with how thin she was, the shape her clothing was in and other tell-tale factors Eric could remember few times he'd seen a more pathetic looking waif. Without thinking, merely reacting, the racoon threw himself on to the largest youth, unsure if someone his age, *since when am I that old?!* could hold the bully. Luckily, that young man's energy was spent, and the older racoon's interference brought the fight to a self-conscious halt before it was too late. Breathing hard, dusting himself off but certainly not about to apologize, Eric disgustedly ignored the young men scuffing their toes in the dirt like chastized children, which was of course not too far from reality. The racoon helped the girl to her feet. He now could observe her more closely....heavens, she was even younger than what he'd assumed at first glance and though it was muddy and torn, she was undoubtably wearing a uniform, perhaps a nurse's uniform. "They did not have any papers." One youth spoke up, his accent heavy but his language Eric's own. "What kind o' papers?" The Lieutenant folded his arms skeptically, as the young man wiped some sweat off of his broad forehead. "Well.......they're Alemanian. We do not like zem scurrying in here with zer tails dragging" Eric pointedly overlooked the youth's mixed metaphors, seeing and hearing only the nasty undertone and significance in the words. "Can I ask what the devil you're talkin' 'bout? They're refugees, don't matter the nationality." "Maybe not to you!!" Another young man spoke up furiously, his face an unattractive shade of red. "What do you know about anyzing? Ze are not welcome!" Eric stared the hostile youth down, his thin face intimidating and stark. "Plenty" the one word carried weight and the young man backed off. "I know plenty an'......" Eric paused, a distasteful sensation overtaking him. He shook his head. "Go......get out o' here, go home, or go back to that pile of bricks you associate that with. I'm finished talkin' to you." With a superior wave of his hand, Eric brushed aside the group's protests as though they were all insignificant gnats buzzing around his ear. "You heard me, jus'.......get outta my sight." Eric was grateful when the group complied, leaving him alone with the young shepard dog who refused to look at him, still angry and too proud to thank him. The girl was also there, and she began to speak rapidly to Eric, despite his repeated guestures that indicated that he could not understand. He shook his head before lightly grasping those thin shoulders to regain her attention. Taking a few, jotted notes out of a pocket, the racoon pointed at them, but the girl's response was not encouraging. She shook her head with a great deal of energy and pointed........ Eric stepped back but could only make a wild speculation that the finger was pointing northward......in that oh so specified region of geography. "No papers" he muttered, exasperated at these two greenhorns for wandering around here in this combustible area and time, unprepared. He was also irritated at himself for having to boost his own ego by playing super-hero and bailing them out. Maybe if he trusted them it would be easier......but he didn't, so it wasn't, and he felt no pressing need to change that. The girl was still staring at him......and as it was from the first glance, she was still pitying him, her eyes full of unshed tears, for herself, her companion......maybe even for him. In spite of himself, Eric felt something twist sharply before it faded. He was no knight in shining armor but sometimes, he realized ruefully, chivalry was not altogether dead in him, for all of the good such idealism did. Something flashed in the sun, as the girl pulled out an object, then cradled it in one small, work-worn hand. Eric focused on the compass with a great deal of surprise before looking at it's smooth, glossy surface with practiced confidence. It was northeast, but she still didn't have the right paperwork and neither did her, um....talkative friend, obviously. The racoon could guess why they were here. Still, it was none of his business, he didn't wish to make it his business. The Lieutenant made to turn away. Something stopped him. He was missing something very, very important, but..........the memories had to collect themselves and form a clearer picture than just his vague suspicions. A blue plane, a young, tall pilot, a recollection, becoming sharper and sharper........a young man giving him directions, plotting out maps, courses, of course with a compass. *Heavens be praised and then some.* With _that_ compass. Eric had inspected it with young Cloudkicker's permission. Engraved, a bit scuffed. Without any sense of decorum the Lieutenant snatched the object out of the frightened girl's hand. *It _was_ his......by God, it had to be, please, it just had to be.* Eric felt like he couldn't breathe with the suspense of it. The girl was crying, the other young dog was not in sight.....*and good riddance* Eric though with a grimace. The racoon was angry and he almost didn't realize it as he clutched at the compass. "Where did you get this? Huh?!! Where?! I need to know!!" Terrified, crying enough salty tears to fill a small ocean, the girl shook her head, completely bewildered. "Where?! Tell me!! You stole it! Was he still in one piece when you snatched it, you greedy, little....." Eric stopped himself, feeling distant, which was nothing out of the ordinary, but also........ashamed. Deeply so. The girl's fear was a near tangible thing. She looked, though it was foolish to judge on such a flawed system as outward appearances, but she looked too young and innocent to be the type. Eric stared at her, a tiny sapling of respect deeply rooted for this girl, who should have turned tail and ran if she'd had any shred of common sense. She had stayed. She wasn't Lorraisian, but a faint, almost sweet memory wafted through Eric's subconscious. The french girls draping them, those young pups who had come from overseas, with flowers, like heroes, at the end of that horrific war. The language, everywhere, it was spoken everywhere and........maybe a bit of time had past but he, yes, he could still remember. Unable to tear his gaze away from that compass, Eric blurted out. "Est-ce que vous parlez la Francais?" It was rusty and pretty awful, and his young friend's face showed it. But not wasting time, she brightened a great deal, a small amount of relief giving her release. "Oui" One word, Eric felt a load being lifted off of him. The racoon, his throat gone dry, licked his lips. He felt foolish and self-conscious, but he held up the compass, casually observing it as it caught and reflected the bright and beautiful sun. The girl's eyes widened, she turned paler, something Eric really hadn't thought possible. He muttered something under his breath before starting in again. "Avez-vu Kit Cloudkicker?" The girl stared at him, absolutely mistified. The racoon resisted the strong urge to slap his forehead. Of course. The name may as well be pig latin to her. But........that compass. No chance or mere coincidence. * It _had_ to be.......* A light, strong, penetrating, crossed her face as she looked at Eric, seeing him fully for the first time. A half-smile appeared and the Lieutenant was ready to listen. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ The cafe was filled with men, but Max no longer had the energy to talk with any of them. None of them knew anything about the crash, the pilot, or even the circumstances that the brown dog desperately needed information about. They were dirty, tired and had come a long way. Max was sick of hearing about their problems as well. Of the last Alemanian offensive, the one that they had been careless enough to almost let break through, it's desperation posing as an even larger danger than the actual attack. These soldiers seemed to have their own problems........and their own cockiness, ingrained in them from the close victory, and even from their own sufferings. Max wondered how it would have been otherwise. Pausing for a moment the dog reflected, then shook his head. No........better to deal with these lads, despite all of their irritating tendencies, than the alternative. The young pilot stuffed his hands deep within his pockets and crept along the side wall as inconspicuous as he dared hoped to be, considering the fact that he had stood stock-still for some time, trying to ask questions or simply observing these occupants as one does a display in a museum. Observing but apart. Max kept his eyes on the far table in the corner, a hard task taking into account the fact that the entire room was dimly-lit, dusty and somewhat uncomfortable. A room, a place within a world that remembered itself to be something much better. A location of elegance and joy that seemed to be desperately attempting to return to what once was and rise above the chaos and filth that it was now subjected to. The same, could be said, assumedly, of many of it's inhabitants. The bartender, a thin, scrawny, nervous-looking stork who looked bedraggled and absurdedly dignified at the same time pointedly ignored the young soldier, which suited Max just fine. He himself was still entirely unsure as to why he had come here in the first place. To escape the dust, the wind, or more pressing.....the menacing clouds which gave a clue as to what condition the deeply rutted roads, equipments and most of the men would be in in a matter of hours. Sopping wet and miserable. Max placed his elbows on the sticky table gingerly and absently allowed his gaze to rest on the open door. He looked.....but saw nothing, his eyes carrying neither memories nor emotion, only weariness. A tall, burly-looking polar bear with a spotted, discolored coat and a thread-bare knit cap came tromping through the door, an unpleasant grimace adding nothing to his already dour features. Max blinked a few times and averted his gaze slightly as the polar bear, scowling at him, misinterpreted the young pilot's blank stare with open hostility. The bear smirked at Max then began his less than graceful journey to one of the center tables, pushing aside chairs and hapless soldiers who happened to be in his way, with careless arrogance. Max felt his guard, not to mention his temper, rise up as he watched the bear, not exactly sure that he liked the idea of being so meanly judged by such a brutish figure. The dog's own pride began pricking at him. The jittery bartender had finally tapped him on the shoulder and asked in a quavering tone what he wanted, but to Max, he might as well have been a fly buzzing in his ear and he waved the stork away with a less than gracious motion of his arm. A sharp screech sounded loudly as a chair involuntarily was dragged into place, then some cracking and popping as the husky looking bear settled down, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back. One of the waitresses irritably stepped around the polar bear rolling her eyes. Unfortunately, she wasn't quick enough to avoid his unattractive leer and resulting comment. "Hey, Sophie.......howzabout givin' me somethin' a little extra than jus' my regular today, huh?" The girl, a golden colored collie, whipped her head around and planted a foot near the bottom leg of the precariously tipped seat that the polar bear was resting his weight on. Max sat up a little straighter, his full attention on the two........his and everyone else's in the joint. "Oh yeah, sure......" the girl's accent contrasted a bit with the bear's, although both had the same origin. Max felt himself grin a bit, Usland........had to be, what else? "I'll be glad to as soon as ya get past yer reputation......not to mention yer name, _Cool Hands_ 'Sides, you can get that idea outta yer head, I'm not that kinda girl" Several snickers were heard, which quickly escalated to roars of laughter from everyone in the room, especially when Sophie, with one quick movement, pushed the bear's chair out from underneath him. The polar bear, Cool Hands.........? Max shook his head, *Hope that's not his real name* stood up furiously and slammed a fist down on the unyielding table. The bar was immediately silent. Max felt his annoyed feelings return with a vengeance. The guy was obviously a bully, and the fact that he wasn't in uniform raised the dog's suspicions. *What was this guy doing here?* Trying to cash in on the devastation around him, like so many other low-lifes Max had seen everywhere, skulking about. The dog dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand unwittingly, an old bitterness, no, at this moment, more like an old grudge.......held against everyone and everything not helping to end this misery, merely adding to it, clouded the pilot's brain. The polar bear dusted himself off, not an easy task with the previous condition of his apparel, and scowled at the bartender who hurried over, moulting feathers with every step he took. Max perked his ears up to try and hear what exactly the unpleasant individiual was muttering to make the bartender seem so ill at ease. "B-but....she has been here for almost a year now....." The broad accent still allowed Max to hear every sorry word. More low grumbling, the polar bear grinned maliciously at the stork, who slowly nodded his head. Max's eyes turned to slits as he carefully pushed his chair back from the table. Not fully aware of his rage, even more so, not caring, the dog rested his gaze on the unpleasant bear, this time unswervingly. Though every other soldier had either left the polar bear's table or had repeatedly attempted to ignore him, Cool Hands sneered at those close enough to see and hear him, before piping up again. "Yesiree, jus' gotta show those dames whose boss, y'know?" The polar bear stopped and viciously scowled at the few random giggles still heard, though heard timidly at best. "Yeah......back in Cape Suzette, I was quite the ladies' man. These gals jus' want someone to put 'em in their place." Max started to stand before he unconsciously met the gaze of that girl.....Sophie? as she turned away from the bartender, her eyes spitting fire. The dog glanced at the polar bear and Sophie smiled slightly. Max then turned his frigid gaze back to Cool Hands, barely allowing what that individual had actually said, to penetrate. Only one small detail stood out blaringly........Cape Suzette. Max almost snorted before shaking his head. *Some day I'm gonna hafta visit that blasted place, find out jus' what they put in the water that affects all o' these yahoos that come out of it.* Dimly, the brown dog could still hear Sophie arguing with the bartender, but he couldn't allow himself to avert his glare one bit. As if in slow motion, the polar bear turned his head around to pin down the owner of those eyes that he could feel so sharply all of a sudden. Max didn't flinch as the older bear first raised an eyebrow, then glared right back, an open challenge. The young pilot wasn't used to backing off from anything, and he was too strung out to care about the consequences at this moment. Someone was gonna take the brunt of that simmering cauldron of deep emotion he had so carefully concealed for far too long and Max, with almost sadistic pleasure, suddenly hoped it was this pompous neer-do well. Cool Hands put both palms on the table in front of him and pushed himself back, his chair producing a very effective scraping noise far more grating, as hard as that was to believe, than anythign he could say or do. "You gotta problem _sonny_? Or maybe you're jus' a little soft in the head?!" The room froze completely, the tensions that everyone had felt or were certain to be feeling now, from a thousand different sources, crackled with an almost electric power. "Should I have one?" Max's voice was low, but fearless. The polar bear stood up and began making his way to Max's corner. The dog swallowed a lump in his throat in spite of himself when he saw his adversary's full size, but still he angrily held his ground. "Y'know, you've been pesterin' me since I walked through that door. I think yer lookin' fer some trouble......an' I also think it's about time I let ya find it." Max stood up fully himself, fists clenched, admittedly relieved to hear other chairs scraping across the floor as the other occupants, solder, pilot, civilian, what have you, sensed what was about to happen and reacted, almost involuntarily. "I'm supposin' mister, that you ain't used that word or any like the one _think_ let alone given up the energy to follow through with it fer longer'n you'd care to admit." The large polar bear was now face to face with Max, his over-emphasized features twisted with rage. "Why you little maggot......I'm gonna enjoy knockin' yer block off...." Max closed his eyes, reacting, as Cool Hands drew his fist back. *Sure wish I woulda gotten the first punch.* His last thought was little comfort as the polar bear's fist made contact painfully. A low, dull roar was the next thing the young pilot was aware of as chairs, bottles, unfortunately for some victims, even tables, were thrown about, and the yelling, cursing, along with the sound of fists flying with emotions left to simmer too long in an unhealthy environment finally found release. The dog could've cared less, however, as he jumped up and threw all of his weight into a pretty effective tackle, bringing the snickering bear down with a groan. Max felt himself joustled and punched several more times as he struck back, before he felt his strength start to give way in comparison to the larger polar bear. Noting with some satisfaction the purple shiner and rather fat lip that the bully was about to unpleasantly aware of, Max also saw, with increasing alarm the brawl that was growing out of hand in a matter of seconds. Windows and glass shattering, the piteous, high-pitched pleading of the bartender, but especially one could hear the group of men more than willing to fight one fight effectively and with some good old-fashioned fun, even if, or probably because former loyalties and common sense held little or no sway here. Swinging out a few more times for good measure, Max dizzily tried to get on his feet before being brought down again, hearing Cool Hands' mumbled cursings along with a hundred other bitter remarks. "Goody two shoes, this one's fer suckin' up to the Sarge....." "Aw, you were always jealous, 'sides, I never once laid a finger on her......" "Here's for when you turned an' ran like the yellow belly you are 'stead of fightin' like a real man......" Trying to disengage himself from the infuritated bear who kept getting a few good blows in, Max felt and heard, though he didn't completely understand, the whirlwind around him. "Cheapskate!" "Good fer nothin'!!" "Lazy bastard, always gettin' us in hot water...." "I know it was you who took it......" "Dirty, rotten, son of a......." Finally Max managed to stand up again, feeling his swollen, probably bleeding or maybe broken nose gingerly and viciously kicking or swinging at anyone in his path. His main opponent, unfortunately, was still unsatisifed and almost roaring in fury, Cool Hands attempted to use the same tackling method Max had seemingly perfected moments, or minutes? before. This time, however, the dog side-stepped it and began snickering at the sight of the large bear sprawled out on the floor, in the midst of all of the contained chaos. "You look like you could use a stiff drink, _Pops_" Groggily, the polar bear began to get up again, a growing, murderous look in his eyes. With a startling crash, the girl.....Sophie, brought down a very fine- looking bottle of spirits right on the abrasive bully's head. Cool Hands now seemed blissfully unaware of the mess he'd helped start and looked even more prepared to stay in that condition for quite some time. Max grinned as Sophie tsk-tsked over the bottle. "I guess that was strong enough for him, eh?" "Yeah...." the pilot replied, smiling widely, "Although it's a shame, I always said that that was a good year" Sophie threw back her head, laughing as Max impulsively pulled her out of the way of another rambunctious brawl that blew past, ready to pull her in. Pushing the girl in front of him, Max caught one more glance of the now transformed bar-room, trying not to laugh out loud as the old stork shook a fist at him. Stumbling out of the door, both he and Sophie attempted to catch their breath, still laughing, bruised and running full throttle from their own adrenaline and that of the charged atmostphere they'd come barrelling out of. Sophie whipped out a handkerchief and quickly pressed it to the young pilot's nose, a strange gesture, close to out of place with the sounds of the brawl still very noticeable, behind the two. Max nearly took a step back before letting his eyes rest on the former waitress approvingly. He felt very odd suddenly, there was a sudden tension......uncomfortable, and a great many different questions that he wanted to ask this strange Usland girl. All of his inquiries died on his lips however when Sophie grinned at him and winked. "You sure know how to treat a gal right on her first date, dontcha fly- boy? Got any encore performances?" Max took a step back apprehensively. "Look....how did you kn-" With an almost contemptuous flip of her hand, Sophie motioned to Max's head, and what was on top of it. Max rubbed his hat self-consciously before stepping back and letting the girl dab at his very tender face with her handkerchief. Her smart-alecky tone, bitingly irritating to the young pilot any other time, was actually close to attractive inside of this one strange moment. "Got the perfect thing......" Max tried to smile at her, a difficult thing as he was just now starting to feel the pain of his little encounter, though feeling more discomfort at how close his companion was. He tried another tactic, not sure of how to flirt with this girl, or if he really needed to. "Uh.....that is, do you....um, wanna say good-bye to yer boss in there afore takin' leave of this _faaaahn_ establishment?" Sophie stepped back and placed her hands on her hips, her gaze causing Max to fidget awkwardly, and curse himself because of it. She finally smiled softly before shaking her head vehemently, her face showing a look of disgust as she turned around to stare back at the bar. She then turned to stare at the still fidgeting pilot. "Did you happen to ask that fer a good reason?" Max flushed and stared down at his shoes. "Well......unless you got somethin' better to do tonight." Her laugh, decidedly pleasant to the dog's ears sounded, clear in the warm, damp, spring night. "Honey, I'm all yours." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ "I have seen some sorry, sorry sights in my day, but you, absolutely, hands down, no contest, take the cake. Hell's bells.......an' here you was sayin' that _Kit_ was a glutten fer punishment. You look like somethin' that's been run over twice then spit on......an', hey kid!" Max slightly turned his head, hearing the pilot's words but not really allowing them to register. Baloo slumped in his chair wearily before looking at the now barely recognizable young pilot. "What is it, you have one too many? Ya look a little outta sorts, kid." Max finally turned to look at the gray bear and grinned, a strange occurrence in itself. Baloo blinked before allowing a worried expression to crease his brow. "Hey.....Max! I said, you all right son?" Max nodded slowly before walking over to inspect the afore-mentioned damage in the mirror. The large pilot caught a whiff of something as the dog walked past and allowed himself a grin of his own. "Um.....that's some fine smellin' perfume you've started wearin' my boy......" Smirking, the pilot shook his head before heading out of the tent. Max shot him a dirty look before recalling something of importance he had wanted to ask the large bear. "Hey Baloo.....wait a minute!" That individual stuck his head back in with an almost cheesy grin. "Need some uh......advice, kid?" Max raised an eyebrow. "From who, you? Get serious........" Baloo scowled and made to leave again before being glued to his tracks by one very out of place question. "Did you ever know a....what did she say his name was......?" The dog muttered to himself, trying to remember Sophie's words. "Oh yeah, Cool Hands Luke in Cape Suzette? I jus' figured, since he's a pilot too......an' well, him and me, we sorta uh, had a serious disagreement tonight." The pilot was back inside the tent in a flash. "H-How serious it was I can fully see kiddo." Max turned away from the mirror at Baloo's tone. The two looked at each other for a long moment before Max awkwardly cleared his throat. "So......I take it ya know him?" Baloo clapped a hand over his eyes unexpectedly, causing Max to jump. The gray bear then ran it over his face tiredly. "No......" he started, in a voice so low that Max had to lean over to hear him. "I.....uh.......didn't know him myself, but.......I, uh.....um, I was pretty well acquainted with a lady friend o' his." Max fleetingly caught the change in Baloo's expression as the pilot coughed and pulled his features into a near scowl to keep from laughing. "Tam Margaret, that was her name........if I 'member correctly......" Max still said nothing, only watched the changes on Baloo's face with some fascination. Finally the dog spoke up again. "So......what's the big secret? Did somethin' happen between 'em? Or did she jus' find out what kind o' pig he really is?" Baloo put a hand on his knee and grinned at the young pilot with an understanding look in his eyes, before chuckling, then laughing too hard to stand up straight. When he finally looked back at the younger pilot, his eyes twinkled at some kind of joke, though what it was Max was still at a loss to know. "Well, uh kid. Let's jus' say that those two had more in common than what poor 'ol Cool Hands ever realized......" ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ Sure, Max liked the guy, they'd even had a great laugh over an old acquaintance whom the brown dog would have been happier still to have avoided completely. But.........even if he was still stiff and sore, bruised and on hiatus, by all that was good and holy, he'd kill that fat bear slowly if Baloo didn't stop that pacing and drumming on the rickety table that seemed to be the only central piece of furniture in these dusty, musty old tents. And when the young pilot was done with him, he'd gladly go and polish off Eric as well. *Wherever that blasted traitor is........* Baloo was antsy, but Max's sympathy for the reasons behind it was stretched to it's limit. Here he was, trying to recuperate, and that _bear_ kept persisting in putting him in a bad temper. Well......there was more than one way of calming a person down. Max smirked, *Sure he'll forget all about that bump in the morning.* Tightening his fist, the young pilot stood up. Fortunately for Baloo, a winded individual spattered with mud and grime and looking a good deal younger than what had been noticed before came running through the tent flaps. Max and Baloo stared at Eric and more so, stared at whatever jibberish it was that he was throwing at them. Finally, something coherent penetrated, though it was still clear as tar when it came to actual deciphering. "C'etait....au nord quand je l'aivu....." "C-come again?!" Baloo stammered, startled by the racoon's sudden appearance. Without saying another word, something shiny, small and gold was pressed into Baloo's hand. Something........miraculous. "Where did you get this?" Both Eric and Max stood stock still at the ferocity on the gray bear's face, the intensity of the emotion that came with that object carried in his hand, so strongly attached to his heart. Eric only looked at the bear, but directed his next remark towards the young pilot who appeared ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation any minute. "Max......." "What?!!" the racoon raised both eyebrows at the shouted reply, but pressed on. "We're settin' a course for the Lebel river. By God, assault or no, we'll be there to try and cross it......." "Or die tryin'?" it was a soft remark, it's power creating a near visual tension to pulsate across the room. Baloo couldn't seem to take his eyes off of that silly, worn out little instrument. If it were a life-line, Eric would still have doubts on Baloo being able to hold it any tighter. "Baloo, Kit was found.....uh....in a bad way. He was alive a few days ago......" The bear couldn't speak. What could he say? Eric stared at him and continued, although the blasted lump in his throat felt like it was choking him. "He.....was taken to Linber. The girl who gave that to me......most probably saved 'is life. But we've _got_ to reach that forsaken river." "Kit's in Linber?!" "That's where this nurse took care o' him an'......." "Where is this nurse?" Baloo looked up. Eric almost didn't recognize him, he seemed so much younger. "Gone" the word was quiet. "Gone to find somethin' better, wit' her brother, that good-for-nothin'." The burst of malice surprised both the Lieutenant and Max. Baloo saw only the compass. More so than at any other time in it's existence, it had guided a path this night, never to be forgotten. "She was sorry about that thing." Eric pointed at the flat disk almost apprehensively, considering Baloo's grip on it. "She didn't even know that she had it still, left in such a hurry. But she gladly gave it back, 'though she sure didn't have anythin' else to call her own. Her an' that bloke.....didn't have nothin' or nobody left......." the racoon trailed off, embarrassed at his own rambling. Baloo looked over it's compass, lightly rubbing a thumb over it's cover, a hundred memories, beautiful, warm, oh so wonderful memories. "Kit's alive" he said simply to Max, who felt pretty light himself at the bear's tone. "I heard" The joy in the pilot's voice would have made anything said in reply seem cold and distant. "Kit's.......al-......." Baloo stopped and bolted out of the door. Alive. The pilot's son had survived. Eric watched him go, feeling Max's eyes, razor sharp on the back of his head, feeling the coldness inside of him, the hostility all around him. But for one brief second, he didn't care. Past tents, past soldiers, only stopping at the radio, then finding a frequency. The gray bear knew where it was, it was stamped in his memory. Two words. The accompanying emotions too sacred for further explaining. One pilot and several individuals back on the homefront forever defined.....and changed. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ April 29, 1945 Once it had been one of the most beautiful cities on the continent of Eporue, majestic and proud, in spite of it's past turmoil and humiliation. A thousand years, a thousand different memories and dreams lived......and now died here as the faint shadow of an overpowering darkness, only now beginning to fade, never leaving completely but retreating to the alleyways, under stairs and the deep recesses of the mind, left the penalty in it's wake. The soul of a city......and a people, who could never affort to forget again. And before guilt, yet after the deed, comes the punishment. For this nation, for the world that still refused to see and learn the first time, it was more terrifying than anything they could ever have known. The ravaged city, once a thing of beauty, now corrupted and decaying, stood ready, praying that this time would be the last and hoping to weather the tempest that would only rejoice in it's destruction, maybe forever. The dust, like a shroud, hung over the streets of Linber, which remained quiet and empty......and ready to do it's penance. Pock-marked buildings, debris and rubble, unrecognizable, clogging streets......no life to be seen. The planes were gone from high above, the pain and terror merely echoes of what they had formerly been, the smoke, the filth, the stench........the silence, and now, the end. The tanks slowly creaked forward, a solid line of steel armor. One by one, the tops opened and a helmeted head popped out of each, some with binoculars, other content to merely stare. Several thin, moving lines crossed hills and ravaged country to enter the city waiting for them. For most, there would never be a moment in their lifetime when they would ever turn back. The soldiers and grim-faced officers, barking out orders but not attempting to maintain a great deal of control, stepped back as the slow lines quickly turned into a raging flood of men, a terrifying mixture of boots on ruined and demolished sidewalks, discovering civilians who protested, terrified, when it helped them. Occassional gunfire, the tanks opening with their bombardment as they rolled in to take the place that had been the heart of so much misery, both their own and many others. At times cruel, brutal but very effective, the soldiers waged their own battles, down abandoned streets, pillaging, destroying, wreaking revenge which too quickly turned into blind hatred without any kind of reasonable excuse. Civilians and soldiers alike ran to get out of their way, once the occupier, now the defeated. The April rains could wash the dust and soot away from none of them, nor could it make this place clean again. For one brief moment......victory, but even now......no hope for peace, especially without forgiveness. A small soldier, far from his snow-covered home, grasped the symbol of what he believed that he had fought long and hard for and climbed......story after story, to the top of the devastated Reischstag, now destroyed beyond recognition. On a stone pillar, he stood and with triumph, tears and a taste of long enduring bitterness, he waved the flag high. The occupiers of this country, the Thembrian symbol, high above the loss of what lay below. In the space of moments, the rulers of the terror that had existed, and that had sworn that it would live for a thousand years, was reduced to ashes, a moment captured for all time. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ "I don't _care_ how blasted tired you are, I can bet ya my next pay'n then some that I'm more so! Quit yer sniveling....." The Sergeant growled at the pale, shivering soldier who seemed barely able to hold onto his own gun, almost pitiful looking in his over-sized shoes that contined to slip and slid underneath him in the mass of mud that passed for a road. Line after line of weakened, exhausted men placed a hand on the shoulder of the individual in front of them, marching hypnotically, as though in a trance, some asleep on their feet, their bodies unable to endure any more. Trucks blew by, splashing mud and filth high into the air, where it landed on apathetic beings who had seen too much to care for such trivial matters. A loud honking finally did bring some of them around as a jeep came crashing through the tanks and supply vehicles, full of it's own importance, much like the individuals inside of it. Clean, pressed uniforms, shiny medals and shoes, and the full attention of the exhausted men around them all specifically stated who these people were. The burly Sergeant finally turned his attention away from his enlisted underling and gazed contemptuously at the mud-splashed vehicle which sputtered past all of them without a second look back. The fatigued, drawn faces watched it go without emotion. Curling his lip the Sergeant sneered before pushing the strung-out soldier back in line and jogging a ways, past the slow moving lines, up a bombarded and filth-encrusted hill that overlooked.......a river. With a hard look in his eyes, the Sergeant gazed at the tanks and the uniformed soldiers on the other side. Their allies, who now appeared to be facing them down. Without a doubt, there was an officer on that opposite bank doing the exact same thing this man was, and shaking his head at the naivete' of those who trusted out of necessity. The jeep drove noisily over the newly secured bridge, to a fully bedecked officer, large and intimidating who stood, stone-faced, oblivious to the wind or the chill that carried over from the Lebel river underneath them. Out of an Usland-signia carrying jeep, a large bulldog jumped out, straightened his hat and took a moment to spit with a great deal of energy into the treacherous water running full force underneath before reaching out a hand. The Thembrian officer eyed it with a gaze far colder than even his homeland and met the eyes of his enemy before shaking the extended hand. Uslanders, some too tired to stand up, still found it in themselves to cheer wildly. But the cheers ended quickly, met by silence on both sides as the two generals gave each other a quick nod....and returned to their own prospective camps, tanks ready, troops ready.......and waiting. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ The radio crackled violently and Eric winced as he adjusted it. Having no other pressing reason to stay on it, the Lieutenant it off distractedly and put his head down with a sigh. *Well.......that was it.* No one could say that he didn't try. But that was it. Orders, authority........Linber was not a place that anyone wanted to be right now, from all guesses and assumptions that was where Kit was, hopefully still alive. But it simply did not look good. The Thembrians had probably completely overran the city, or would in a few days time, after nearly reducing it to rubble, but Alemany was still intact. From those he'd actually seen around the river, standing around, sometimes seemingly afraid of their own shadow, those within that city weren't the rookies that some of these boys appeared to be. Didn't seem to matter the time or the place, or even the bloody war.......orders, regardless of who Eric blamed or wearily forgave after decades of pain, were the same. If only...........he could walk away. If only there was no more hope or anticipation. Still....there was no access to the city, it was in Thembrian hands now, when the two sides had met and the surrender was about to become official. In the meantime, there was no food, and the possibility of a still severely injured young man out there who, if he didn't find a way to get himself out, could be trapped for who knew how long? And although they were allies, Eric knew that there was little or no chance of convincing anyone how badly his small trio needed to get into that city. Red tape.....cold and brutal. Eric heard the tent door flutter and the now familiar voice of the boy's father speak up. "So......how soon are we gettin' in that dust pit? Figure it'll be easier to find Kit now, 'specially since the city ain't likely to be teemin' with......" "What?" The bear's expression, at first happy and relieved, changed as Eric stared at him bleakly and rubbed his eyes. "We're not goin' in.......orders came through." "But...I thought you said that we had clearance to go anywhere we needed! This ain't even a military operation!!" The gray bear's complete frustration was hard for Eric to tolerate, especially with the guilt he experienced when he dealt with the pilot. He was actually starting to like the chap.......reminded him strongly of some of his old cronies. There was a part of him hidden deeply and securely, ready to show itself at the risk of excruciating pain, that even envied the large bear. At least the pilot had a son. A wave of bitterness almost wiped away the pressing guilt for a moment. Almost....but not quite. "There's no more clearance for anybody in their right mind. Place is a hell-hole. They're lettin' the Thembrians overrun it" "A-and then what?! Wait 'till Kit don't got any more options an' then decide that it's okay to let us try an' help him? You know what you can do with yer orders.......I'm headin' there right now!!" Eric, still sitting, waited patiently as the bear stomped out, then seconds later stomped back in. "Um.......got any maps or instuctions on how ta get there?" "You won't get there, especially not on foot. We..........I know it's awful, but we need to wait. I'm sorry" Silence, terrible for the racoon after these last two words were spoken. For Eric, they were so empty, meaningless. Baloo, having heard the same phrase time and time again, didn't listen or notice the Lieutenant's expression. Eric turned back to the radio, hand shaking, that empty apology ringing in his ears. The racoon felt....strange, _very_ strange, he'd let too much go, perhaps....something seemed to be happening to him, the tent began to blur, the normal sounds of the camp becoming louder and louder, roaring as the shells shook the earth, the trenches stretched as far as the eye could see and faces, wave after wave, went down. Gasping, the racoon could hear voices over the terrible din, he could see the images coming from the floodgate he had opened, as he felt his own emotions dethaw. "He left.......and you came back in his place." "One more lads, an' it's ours.......bloody war'll be over, I swear that this time it'll be over!!" "We don't need to see or hear anymore, the war's gone, there's no place for you here......" No place, it's all over......who is your enemy and who is your friend?! "Eric!" the racoon was jolted back with a sudden shaking sensation. Baloo was shaking his shoulders roughly, a look of near shock and confusion on his face. "I-I'm.........I'm all right. I'm sorry.......I'm truly.....so-" The Lieutenant was gone, past the pilot, out the door, with amazing speed, Baloo's words barely reaching him before he was gone. "Hey......Eric, you sure that yer........" Eric didn't hear the rest. Baloo stared at the now empty seat, his mind in a tailspin, sinking deeper and deeper. He didn't understand this, any of it. Not this individual, not this war, not this whole catastrophic horror that he'd heard about, and especially not Eric's demons that had scared him to death, although he knew nothing about them. Just when he thought that there wasn't much that could still frighten him. Not thinking too much about it, the bear followed Eric, to the......hangar? Could stand for one here, especially with how ill-prepared this whole area seemed to be, hopefully anywhere up north, along this river bed was better than here. An old, rusty beat-up shed that didn't house any kind of aircraft now. It had all been taken, or it was all in use at better, more strategic positions. The Lieutenant was in the doorway, chest heaving, as he paused and put his hands on his knees. The bear, knowing full-well that Eric realized he was there, spoke up again. "I asked.........""I said that I'm fine!!" Silence. The Lieutenant felt humiliated. Just what was happening to him?! He didn't think he wanted to know, after all of these years...... Why did that precious barrier crack and fall apart now? Baloo stood, feeling awkward and tongue-tied, a rare occurrence for him. "It's called shell-shock I believe." The gray bear didn't know how to reply to that. "Bloody term, useless I'd wager......" "Tell me Baloo, you know anybody who served in the Great War?" Eric gave a short laugh, "Great War......what the hell are we in now? I don't know what to call it then." The racoon's intense gaze finally met Baloo's. "'Sides me o' course" Baloo didn't feel compelled to tell this man what was one of the most private issues of his life. Kit, Louie, maybe Rebecca. No one else. A wave of pain, familiar, Baloo could have called it by name he knew it so well. Eric saw the wave as it passed over the large bear's face. He wondered at it......... But he didn't pry, just as he respected those who returned the courtesy to him. He felt the familiar guilt, as much as the pilot felt and encountered his own demons. The racoon felt, he knew a part of his shame, or the continual weakening. He didn't remember ever behaving like a coward, or with any kind of deviousness. But to stand here and pretend to be this individual's friend was low. Particularly when he was responsible and he knew the truth. "Baloo, tell me, when did you decide you had to fly for a livin'? When did you.....uh, hear the call I should say?" The pilot looked at Eric as though he'd grown a new head. *What left field did that come out of?* But he remained all ears. Another short laugh. "The sirens, the beckoning, whatever those blokes choose to call it, same for sailors, the sea, us.......and the sky." It was as if he didn't expect Baloo to answer, as if he didn't want to hear anything but his own voice. Eric continued speaking, opening doors, talking of the one thing that had brought him real freedom, preparing himself for what he had to say later on. "Stars........they sure are beautiful aren't they?" Baloo shook his head, deciding to humor the temporarily crazy Lieutenant and both looked up at the indigo canvas with countless tiny lights, twinkling down. Clear, open, the wind blew lightly as they stared, finding whatever peace they could, whatever they couldn't find here on solid ground, in that vast place. Endless....... "I always loved 'em. Always been like an old friend, when the world was fallin' to pieces 'round me. They're lovely.......but so cold. It's as if we're nothin' to 'em. Blink of an eye and we're gone, never remembered." Baloo was feeling persistently uneasy. This wasn't typical behavior for the racoon. Well, it wasn't typical any way you looked at it. The Lieutenant was circling something and Baloo felt a sudden foreboding as to what it was. "Uh.......your son, he um.....doesn't look like you, does he? More like your.......wife?" Finally the large pilot responded. "Not married, an' Kit.......well, it's a _long_ story......but he's as much my own kid as any other parent's claim on their kids can be." "Long story huh? Another time maybe" The racoon didn't sound as if he meant it. "Kit was a fantastic pilot, one of the better I've seen.......and I've seen my fair share. He learn all o' that from you?" The words were casual but Baloo felt as though they were daggers aimed directly at his heart. "Yeah I taught him or at least I tried to. Kit was a great student......had the love for it, he just seemed to ache fer it at times. I taught 'im everythin' I could think of an' he had......._has_ a good head on his shoulders. Smart, smart as anythin', an' a heart of gold" "He had everythin' it took to be the best......" This time Baloo waited for Eric to correct his past tense. It was almost devastating when the racoon didn't, the Lieutenant merely looked at the gray bear with those hooded eyes, obviously deep in his own thoughts. "I-I loved 'im......more than my own life. Woulda given everythin' I had to make sure he was always safe. That kid jus' didn't have the makings to sit around and let others suffer. Maybe that's why I'm so damned proud of him." "He's the best, better'n almost anyone else I've known, and everythin' that was in his life afore meetin' Rebecca and me jus' yelled out the for the opposite. It shoulda made him bitter and hard an' instead it made him into someone I always hope I can be like someday. Selfless." "Not another kid like him.......anywhere." Baloo knew he was rambling on, yet he didn't care. He knew that Eric didn't mind, that the racoon even understood a great deal of what he was saying. It was that way with a great deal of the things that Baloo said around the Lieutenant. The bear didn't open a tight knit circle of friends very often, despite his jovial, friendly attitude towards most people, but he felt a comraderie with the racoon. It was a great many things......but mostly, that unspoken understanding. Baloo, in spite of what he'd seen and heard from and about Eric, respected him. And Eric felt as though he were on the rack, his guilt reaching a climatic point with the bear's touching openness about his son. But........."An' Kit got the love of flyin' from you?" Baloo shook his head, returning from his reminicising reluctantly. "No......he had it in him fer as long as even he could remember. Jus' born with it, I suppose. He had the passion. An' that's what you need. _I_ felt it, an' I sure wasn't the same afterwards. It's........like somethin' draws you, an' ya ain't the same up there as you are down here. I did think once that nothin' could compare to it. But there _are_ a few things that are better, like sharing it with someone who feels the same way you do." "Ain't nothin'......uh, well.....here on earth like it, pardon the expression." Eric looked very pale suddenly. Baloo looked at him curiously. "You know how it is......dontcha?" The bear already knew the answer. He had felt it from the first second that he had met this person. The Lieutenant knew it, had felt it. Only someone else who possessed the same knowledge could recognize it. Baloo cleared his throat as an old, slightly broken up memory came to him. He didn't voice it right away though. "You were a pilot yerself weren't ya? I, uh.......even heard some stories. Had no idea that the joe some always talked about, who worked with some of the greats was......um, you." There, he'd said it. Although he had already met with some well-known names such as Whistlestop Jackson, Baloo had to tell himself sternly to not be overly impressed. Supposedly, the racoon was one of the better pilots of his age, though his name or individual stories weren't familiar anymore. That was something Baloo respected even more. He'd sometimes wondered, after hearing about it, if Kit had had any idea. Not much was known about the racoon, he was certainly a mystery. But the Lieutenant didn't take the bait nor did he answer any of Baloo's unspoken questions. He didn't even crack a smile. "Yeah.....I did. Crazy fools, some of 'em. Loved the feeling though. Jus'.....y'know, feeling the earth drop away. Guess if you prefer to be up there an' spend most o' of yer time there it's only natural that sooner or later, you fine tune your abilities, though learnin' it sure didn't come easy. 'Specially not for an old trench-dweller like me." Silence again. Baloo didn't know why he wanted to continue this drifting conversation. Maybe it was the feeling that so much more was being said besides the words and the sentences that merely formed a structure. "So.......why aren't you married? I mean, if ya don't mind my askin'" "I'm a confirmed bachelor, never really wanted to deal wit' the 'ol ball and chain, y'know......" Eric's eyes were far away, the faintest shadow in his eyes of something Baloo had known at one time, but which had slowly faded into the background, only re-emerging at strange, inopportune moments, with the right kind of person. Baloo shook his head as the vague thoughts and even vaguer image left, but still he concentrated on Eric's expression. The coldness softened whatever memory was there, but it still held value. "Had the chance......but things change. People too, I suppose." The still aimless conversation, still inconsequential for Baloo, suddenly became tense again for Eric. The nature of the conversation had drifted too far away from the subject that the Lieutenant wanted, yet dreaded, to talk about. Deceitful......cowardly, the words continued to flash in the racoon's brain as he stood next to the large bear. He couldn't pretend to be this man's friend. He couldn't stand here and be silent any longer. "I asked about Kit for a reason......" Baloo nodded, his countenance questioning and uncertain. The racoon returned to that place deep inside of him, cold and unfeeling, to avoid having to bear the full impact of what he was about to say. "I'm sure Max has told you everything? He's a royal pain in my neck, but a sharp kid. He didn't know exactly what was goin' on though........an' why circumstances lead up to the point that Kit had to leave." Baloo stood very still, sure that something was about to happen, although he didn't think he wanted it to run it's full course. The vibes were certainly negative and Eric went on, his voice flat, and absolutely devoid of any kind of excess emotion. "I went into this business 'cause I was asked to. Needed a bloke wit' no extra distractions, some poor chap with a reputation. I tried to run things the best way I could, but up 'till this point, it jus' seemed like a losin' battle. I didn't want the hassle of the press, I wanted some peace. But, Baloo, after awhile....... if nobody knows what yer tryin' to do with somethin' like our operation, then you're jus' beggin' to run out o' options.....not to mention money." Again, Baloo nodded. That was certainly something he could relate to. "Well, I had an opportunity an' I took it. I had an old position wit' the Great War......afterwards, bloody world war, jus' like this, I suppose they'll hafta think of a different name for it." The racoon could have kicked himself.......he had to stay on track here. "But war doesn't last forever, an' neither do my savings. I'm too damn old to join the rat race again, an' the old school's dyin' out, new breed 'o pilots is takin' their place. What I needed was some security, instead of just goin' where the wind took me. Jus'......you get tired, tha's all." "Don't know exactly how those chaps know, but there are always the leeches, the ones what knows how to suck every dime outta this war an' everyone in it. All's they told me was that I'd get a fair share, more'n fair.....pretty large bankroll actually, an' that eventually the supplies would end up where they needed to be......for a price." "It's always the rich what gets to live the good life or gets to survive in this case. Can't eat money, so's without the right stuff it's little comfort. I've been trusted my whole life and for awhile, I wasn't obvious with having to drop the supplies off right where I was instructed to. The lads didn't question it at first either. But then this war was comin' to an end, an' my way out was 'bout to slam shut, so's I got careless, assumin' that as long as it was the right supplies, no one would question how much was bein' dropped off or where." "Kit........idealistic lad, he knew somethin' was wrong, he tried askin' me 'bout it but I jus' shrugged him off, thought it was only average curiousity. Right before he, uh......left, he confronted me, he was confused and angry. He jus' didn't understand that life's more complicated then the basic right or wrong, black an' white. Too many shades of gray there. I've seen his type, they jus' drop like flies out there in battle. Those selfish bastards what seem to control everythin' never seem ta get touched, only those boys, all because they were the one's most willin' to do so." "If I could've prevented it, I would have, but I didn't know the lad would take it upon himself to do as he pleased an' hang everyone else. Well.......my _associates_ or whatever you choose to call the blood- suckers, they got skittish when the pressure was on, an' left me holdin' the bag, an' standin' here." Absolute silence. Eric wasn't often intimidated but he backed away from the look of complete, black, fury on Baloo's face. "So the only reason yer helpin' search fer him is to relieve yer conscious? Or maybe you need to come up with proof, a body......so's you can show yer _friends_" the bear sneered viciously at the word, "that the only problem in yer little operation is now outta the way." Eric made no attempt to stop the tirade. The accusing voices he kept hearing almost drowned out Baloo's voice. "I oughta strangle you right now......ta think I actually.....an' Kit.....you......." the bear was so infuriated that he could only sputter. "I should radio in ta anybody, everybody an' tell them what you did, or is everyone involved in this too? You wanna play games with other people's lives, then I'm sure as hell gonna make sure you pay for it!!" With one fluid movement, Eric side-stepped the punch. "Baloo.....let me explain......." a rather hard thing to do as he kept having to dodge the repeated swings. "Explain what?!! You........yer jus' as guilty as those murderin'.......why dontcha join up on their side, yer perfect fer each other" "I said I'll find 'im then I'll take......hey! whatever responsibility, would you.....?! for my actions, but first we gotta find Kit." Finally Baloo stopped, breathing hard, his expression terrible to look at. "No......" he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "_I'll_ find Kit, I'll get him the hell outta here.......and I'm gonna watch you squirm for all o' this, now." Eric stared at him for a moment before answering. "How? How're you supposed to do that? You can't get into Linber, you don't know if Kit's gotten out by now......." "I don't need help from the likes of you! What do you know about it anyways?!" Eric's gaze was hard........very hard. Baloo backed off. "What do _you_ know about war? About what you're goin' into? What's here.....all o' this? Nothin', it's a bloody vacation compared to where Kit's at...." "Thanks to you!!" "I never told him to go anywhere, he did that himself......an' I'm ready to face up to what I've done, I confessed didn't I?" "What do you want from me? A medal?!" Eric folded his arms. "Time, what I want from you an' everyone else is time. An' then we'll find your son." "_We_ won't find anything!!" Bitter dissappointment showed plainly on the bear's face. "Get outta my sight, you caused all 'o this. Like I said, yer just as guilty as the scum that started this nightmare." Eric almost flinched at that, forcing himself to come out of his shell as he turned and began walking away, slowly, faster, and finally running......though he couldn't escape the voices that followed him. *Guilty.....never again be clean.......never........* Eric knew where he needed to go, with or without permission. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
May 1 1945 Crystal blue, pure, so clear that any casual observer could stare straight to the bottom of this South Pacific sea. The coral, the brightly colored fish, the swirls of gray, green, aquamarine combining, then pulling apart, dancing around the sun's warmth, when it showed it's bright face, fleeing away from it's penetrating beams, sleeping softly beside the silver moonlight. A picture, painted millenium ago, now existing beside man and beast. Or maybe a combination of the two. A long, wooden beam, joined by several others was noticed by a tiny, red and creme colored inhabitant of this sleepy scene. This small local skirted around the large obstacle apprehensively. After all, who knew what lay behind those barnacle-encrusted intruders? And the little fish was not about to become anyone's midnight snack. Bright lights surrounded the wooden huts, some of which seemed rather worn, but still those grass doors were always open, welcoming all who chose to enter, and the laughter, music and softly detached atmosphere of the place reminded many, especially during this time, of something which would remain forgotten for a long time. Louie's helpers were strangely subdued this night. Oddly enough, so was the entire place, though it was filled to bursting with people, standing, crowding, pushing against those rickety walls, as there seemed to be nowhere at all to sit. All eyes focused on the rather outdated radio, with it's well worn knobs, sitting in a place of esteem, on Louie's bar. An orangutan, with another familiar but equally well-worn straw hat placed securely on his, (though he'd never admit it) balding head, held one large hand on the radio's warm, buzzing top and gazed at these people in his place. The faces may change, but strangely enough, they remained the same, hopeful, waiting, expectant. Year after year, he'd seen them come and go, never really caring if any of their personal business seem to collide with each other. But tonight, this radio and the power it had possessed through four years of war and dread was everyone's business. The bartender fondly patted it, remembering how many times it had influenced him and those closest to him. ~Tell Baloo.......tell Papa Bear!~ A crushing sadness blotted out the ape's former calm. Where they were, those two who should have been here tonight, was something he could only imagine, though the hope was still alive and kicking. Louie gently reached over and grasped a cap that another guest he had specially invited, one who sat with her silent and pale daughter in the seat of honor in front of the small contraption, had brought with her. Unconsciously the orangutan looked at Rebecca Cunningham for approval, but she wasn't staring at him. She only kept her arm wrapped tightly around Molly's shoulders and kept the other hand in her lap, maybe to hide how much it was trembling. A squeal, a wave of static and a low murmuring in the room as a connection was lost. Louie's helpers scurryied over to the fickle piece of machinery but a work-hardened, still rather greasy hand reached across to thump the radio lightly, as though the mechanic was burping a baby. Another squeal, then the subdued silence. "Hey, uh......Louie. I think you're radio's sick 'cause it keeps losin' it's voice.........." the lion gazed over at the bartender worriedly. "Hush Wildcat" the command was abrupt, but not harsh or angry. Molly smiled slightly at her friend, although it didn't reach her eyes, and the lion, oddly astute when it came to the girl, gave her a squeeze before taking his seat again, ready to pounce on that transmittor if it gave them any more, ahem.....static. His efforts were fortunately not needed. A low, grave voice came crackling through and the room held it's breath as one. "The news has been confirmed on this date, May 1st, 1945. Alemany has officially and unconditionally......surrendered" One line, one moment. It was over. For those foolish enough to believe it, for those who weren't, didn't matter, never would. It was over. No cheering, no wild jubilation as Louie, looking all of his years and more, turned off his well used radio. Another time, another place, and the joy would be near to overwhelming.......but here the sacrifice and loss that every occupant of this room had faced was too much to dare celebrating it's end for. All were silent and grateful, but this time there was the unspoken, 'never again' For Rebecca, her daughter Molly, Louie and Wildcat, it was hollow and superficial. Louie felt a passing wish for Bess to be here, but she was at the hospital where she gave aid occasionally, although he knew her heart was here with them. The ape glanced at Rebecca and her stony countenance. Placing a competent hand on her shaking shoulder, the bartender focused his kind gaze on her. "Kin I get ya anythin' Rebecca?" A sharp shaking of that bearess' head. Molly looked over at Louie, her large brown eyes full of worry. The ape winked at her, though he didn't feel up to the task. "Hey, uh Louie?" The ape glanced at Baloo's mechanic a trifle wearily. "Do ya think that this little guy can get a signal from Baloo? I mean, I think he may need ta hear the news......from a friend, man" The bartender, about to make a rather droll comment about Baloo being in about the best place there was to find out any and all news there was to be had died on his lips as he took the lion's full meaning. "You're sure as anythin' welcome ta try, WC. With good luck to go along wit' it." Rebecca didn't look up at the lion's tinkering, or at Louie's concerned gaze. The ape would have offered words of comfort and assurances that her pilot......and navigator, couldn't really think of that boy any other way, would come back. Hell, he'd even give her a hanky for those tears but he knew that it wasn't what she wanted. Molly hugged her mom tightly, too empty to cry anymore. The water still lapped at this shoreline and far, far off in the distance, the city of Cape Suzette had a moment of crazed, exultating joy. Fireworks, music, laughing and crying. And it was more than the sea that would seperate such places. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
"..........officially and unconditionally......surrendered" Background static, but no voices were heard. "Hey, turn that piece o' junk off!!" One young soldier snapped irritated, resting his head in his hands, trying to sleep. The tent was jam-packed with people, some standing on the outside, pushing and joustling each other to hear what they already knew. The was a whine, then a sharp click as the transmission was ended. Several officers, bedecked with ribbons and the like, turned to face the crowd with matching expressions of jubilation on their faces. The crowd, however, remained sober and distant. Some were dirty, smeared with traces of sweat and lined with fatigue and lack of sleep, but they looked the same.......victorous. But.......the price. One by one, their hats were removed, heads low, silence, with only the wind possessing the presumption of interrupting such a moment, with it's whistling through the flaps, and breathing against the sides like a living thing. A young, brown dog stood in the far corner, arms folded, a hundred miles away. Maybe wishing that someone had been there to join him......but would never be again. A large, older gray bear stood outside, tired, aged. With one movement, he fished out a piece of paper from deep within his handy flight shirt. It was well fingered and quite filthy, the words smeared. "If anything happens......hope not, but if anything _does_, this is for my family. Any red-blooded pilot'll know 'em, no worries. Just.....tell 'em it's for Baloo. An' tell him it's for the future........ "To Follow" -Kit Cloudkicker Calling, summoning, all trails lead here The music decieves you, yet still they lead here Of nights of memories, of cold and of fear Through children, generations, the trails lead here Those who chose to follow Those who won't return Those who sit there waiting Those who'll never learn And still this path will guide you And still the war goes on And still those who will never see or care who's lost or won And all the lights grow darker The candles all go out The causes and the glory And what it's all about You can't pretend to understand you can't pretend to see That those who hear the Piper's tune among them all is me......." Baloo's eyes blurred....it was something Kit could have written, with all of his imagination, his sensitivity. It was an apology, it was an explanation, it was a promise. Not before, and not now, could the navigator ever be content to turn away. If only the pilot could give him up that easily. If only..... ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^ May 2, 1945 The Lieutenant tipped his cap to the burly looking driver and his over eager companion as the jeep buzzed off noisily. "Best 'o luck, gramps!!" The racoon grimaced. *Smart alec whipper snapper.....* Eric stopped himself. By all the stars above him, he was even starting to _sound_ older than he felt. No matter What he needed right now was info, and to stay one step ahead of whoever might be trying to stop him. Uneasily, Eric looked behind him, in that dust-choked road. The only thing visible was potholes and the occassional bedraggled individual that came through, coughing and cursing. Still........*Can't be too careful, if.....that bear* Eric stopped himself. *Baloo, Kit's father.....sounded as good as his threats* The racoon didn't even want to think about what was going to happen when he got back. That is, assuming he would even go back. He had no ties, not here, and not there either. Just had to wait and see. *Kit's a pilot, his dad's a pilot.....would make sense that the first friendly people or place he would try and contact would be an airfield.....* That is, Eric hoped with every fiber of his being that that was the case. It was his neck on the line otherwise. *That is....if he got out of Linber...* That single thought chilled the racoon's blood. If not, then they were in for rough waters. The Lieutenant really didn't feel like going into that city, and he sure as anything didn't feel welcome here, with all of these unfamiliar faces and the even more unfamiliar language confronting him everywhere he went. *Can't be that bad......Thembrians are supposed to be on _our_ side.* Yeah, they were supposed to be in the last one too, and look what happened then. The nearest airfield was at the other end of this forsaken town......Zurick, or something like that. What he needed could be there....... ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
The breeze was still quite brisk against him, but that wasn't going to bother Kit now. He'd hit paydirt. *Now.....who would leave all of this lyin' around?* Not that the young man was complaining. Shaking off the persistent feeling of guilt, Kit continued to dig in, the holes in that forsaken pit of a building offering temporary shelter, as he ate like he'd never remembered eating before. And hallelujah to that......... It was just an old grocery store, besides......he helped them, and so on and so forth. *Scratch my back and I'll scratch their's* The grin was quickly wiped off of the young man's face as he ducked down, a typical reaction as he heard some sharp, commands coming from the outside. The language, not Alemanian, was still nothing to trifle with. Kit, hearing the voices come closer, flattened himself against the floor of the dusty bombed-out structure. Rolling his eyes and grimacing in annoyance, Kit remembered the paper in his hand, the apology note written to whoever used to own this sad structure, explaining where half of their stock had disappeared to. The loud crinkling of the old, dried-up sheet sounded like a cannon shot in it's volume. Kit clamped a hand over his own mouth to keep from saying something sure to be censored later on. More loud orders, some shouting, then silence......Kit squeezed his eyes shut. He was in no condition for a fight, especially since he was too thin, too weak and without any weapons......not that he knew the first thing about how to use them here. Never had to. The young pilot covered his head as the crunching of footsteps over broken glass and rubble came closer and closer. He was an Uslander.....maybe, although he hated himself for even thinking it.....they would go easier on him because of where he came from. The footsteps stopped. Kit opened his eyes, slowly, his head aching from the blood pounding in it, egged on by the unusual beat of his heart. It sounded like a flood in his ears. The soldier's boots were black and remarkably shiny, considering the massive dust bowl the city had chose to imitate. Another set of footsteps, although no boots on this one. In fact.....they were much smaller....as if the owner of the feet was a bit.....uh, shorter, than what would be expected. And suddenly, for Kit Cloudkicker, one voice changed everything. "Dunder!! Tell me...._who_ ith thith perthon.....and why do I feel like I know him?" To Be Continued............. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sphere of Influence  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Hoof Beats  
  
Maconochie! Maconochie! Bully beef and biscuits! Hullo, damn it! that's a crump, How those bangs give me the hump; Here's another! Where's she dropping? Duck! or pieces you'll be stopping! Plum and apple! Beef and biscuit, Well, here goes, I'd better risk it; Just round here, there is no telling When the Hun begins his shelling How good my dug-out seems to me Maconochie! Maconochie!  
  
  
  
July 18, 1918  
  
The Turning of the Tide; Aix-la-Chapelle  
  
The mist only remained for the space of an hour. The morning, eerily reminiscent of another just over two years ago, was calm and beautiful.  
  
Grass that still lived, still remained beyond the deep lines of death cut into the landscape, swayed and bobbed.  
  
It, and the birds singing brightly, was ignorant of what had been done mere kilometers away.  
  
The war, unmoving, unyielding and unforgiving, was a world away.  
  
Here, in these calm fields, was a sanctuary undisturbed. Until today.  
  
It was the beginning of the end, the delayed Big Push.  
  
Instead of a shouted glory however, there was a respectful silence.  
  
Young, fresh-faced soldiers walked slowly across the fields as a cacophony of sound crescendoed on either side, building into a roar of rage and turning the earth in front asunder.  
  
One soldier, his face bearing that odd mix of lost innocence, weariness and excitement, picked a blood-red poppy out of the batches that grew in small clumps. He looked at it for a long time before putting it into his uniform pocket.  
  
Many others quick-marched beside him. They met no resistance in front.  
  
Three Alemanians ran toward a small platoon, filthy scarecrows all. Their arms were up and they were shouting, "Kamerad! Kamerad!!"  
  
Two were old, aged before their time. The other looked like he hadn't been a teenager very long.  
  
"Send 'em back to the lines, Billy" The soldier with a picked poppy nodded at his sergeant before motioning to the three prisoners.  
  
As they began walking back, the soldier looked behind him to the distant figures marching bravely in front of those massive explosions.  
  
He then wordlessly took some hard biscuits and a crumbled cookie from his pack and handed it to the three who began devouring it greedily. "Sorry ain't got nothin' else. Limey's got some o' that god-awful Maconochie, no better'n pig slops if'n ya ask me, but I couldn'a be paid to eat it."  
  
Which they didn't. He assumed that they spoke nothing but their own language. It was dangerous to assume.  
  
Before reaching the camp, one spoke to the young soldier in heavily accented words.  
  
"Vhy here?" He was the younger, still just a child. He pointed the the Usland soldier, honestly puzzled.  
  
"Vhy, er...Why here _what_?"  
  
"Vhy fighting? Only money, politiks, no better. One side, no better. Dey starve us, we gas dem, no better!"  
  
"That's all over now" The Usland soldier said, feeling suddenly exhausted.  
  
"No, no. Never over. Open up box, *poof*, demons out. See to East, now Vest. Starving kinder, old ones. So, we bomb ships, but never over. Only, too tired to go on. Too tired."  
  
The other two nodded, their faces lined with more than what the Usland soldier understood.  
  
When they reached the nearby camp, with its airfields up and running even this early, the Uslander saw a young racoon jogging toward them.  
  
He was a pilot, according to his cap, but he also bore insignia of rank.  
  
Being only a humble private, but damned proud of it, the Uslander didn't know how superior this one was.  
  
"'Ere now, where did these chaps come from?" The crisp accent clipped the words, matching the hardness in the racoon's eyes.  
  
"Surrendered, er...sir. All o' 'em. Starving, by the looks of it." The Uslander didn't mean to look at the other, but he did.  
  
The racoon, if he caught the glance, showed no emotion whatsoever. "Brought it on themselves, didn't they? Filthy Huns, every one. Or so the papers say." The officer's mirthless laugh was like fingernails on a chalkboard.  
  
The three Alemanians looked at him with dead-pan expressions.  
  
The racoon motioned to some NCO's close-by and they led the three away, leaving the Uslander trying to fill the silence awkwardly. The other made no attempt at cordiality.  
  
"Nearly over, 'bought time to."  
  
"Yes. About time. More for some than for others." The racoon sneered at the younger soldier who didn't rise to the bait.  
  
"How's the fighting out there, boy? Our gallant lads giving them what for and all of that rot? Bloody lies."  
  
The Uslander was taken aback by the bitterness in the other's tone. He spit the words out as though he was glad to be rid of them.  
  
"'Cept it isn't over, is it? Like a pot that has a lid but will boil over eventually. Only it will be worse, so much worse. Gods what I wouldn't give to have been born twenty years earlier. When it wasn't considered so bloody stupid to die for one's country. Actually meant something, even if that something was being buried thousands of miles away in some heathen infested land and a shiny medal being presented to next of kin. Oh yes, bring on the good old days."  
  
That cold, cold laugh again.  
  
The racoon's eyes fell on the Uslander, who didn't flinch but fingered the dying poppy in his pocket instead.  
  
"Want to go home, lad? All of you Uslanders do, after only a short time. There'll be hell to pay before it's all said and done. But go home, if that's what it takes. Marry your sweetheart and surround yourselves with brats, I give you my blessing. When the inevitable hits, you won't even remember how it happened."  
  
"I came here because it was my duty, sorry you've had such a rotten time of it." The words rang out in the clear air. Now, the Uslander backed away from that gaze. He had never seen such hatred, and wouldn't until years later.  
  
But now, and in the future, he never, _ever_ wanted to understand it.  
  
"Rotten time?" The reply was a silken whisper, virulent and intense. "Talk to those who'll look at this day and thank whatever deity they worship that it's come at last. Or talk to those who'll never see an end to it. Those who'll sow the seeds, and then reap the fruit of this. Now you, private, can go straight to hell."  
  
It was a month later, when the private remembered the conversation with brilliant clarity. He was racked with fever and clutched in his hand was the note that said that three of his mates had already been taken. Some kind of terrible curse had been unleashed on them all.  
  
And it turned out that they were all right, in a way. This was a hell and it spared no one, no side. His pain-racked body wouldn't let him remember anything else.  
  
Eric Baggett, calmly walking past stretchers and tents filled to the brim with the dying, recognized the young Uslander's tranquil face and filed it away for memory.  
  
Flu, at so young an age. After four years of the meatgrinder, it was the flu that took more than what could be counted.  
  
He himself was perfectly healthy. He was spared, as always. But he didn't care. Nor did he feel sorry for those who would lose so many of their families.  
  
He would probably not even remember the fleeting thought that so many gone would have inflict a terrible cost on society. Only the hardest, the strongest came from this and into the next world being rebuilt on the ashes of war and disease.  
  
If he had remembered, he would have believed, as he did then, that there was no loss such a generation couldn't take.  
  
**************************************************************************  
  
May 2, 1945  
  
Linder  
  
"Tho you thee, young capitalist Uslander whom I have _never_ before met, I _Colonel Thigot_ have once again triumphed over my enemieth and marched into their city, Victorious!!"  
  
Because for the first time in days Kit was warm, semi-fed and could think and move without pain, he tried to wipe the spittle away discreetly though his inner, rebellious self he'd never been able to conquer screamed for a tissue.  
  
Or a raincoat.  
  
Kit's improved situation was largely thanks to Lieutenant Dunder. Kit was willing to put up with pompous little blowhard who almost refreshingly hadn't changed, if it meant he could speak to his long-time friend.  
  
While Spigot continued his tirade, not noticing that he'd lost his audience, Kit leaned forward.  
  
His voice, still raspy and weak, caused the large, soft-hearted Thembrian's brow to crease in concern.  
  
"You've been promoted huh? 'Bout time."  
  
Dunder ducked his head modestly. "There was no one else, Mr. Cloudkicker sir. No one, almost all were er..well, y'know? Um, occupied or d-delayed. _Permanently_ in Marshallburg. Nasty."  
  
Kit was surprised at Dunder's comparative candidness. He looked past the officer's sheepish gestures and saw how tired, even aged Dunder looked. Innocent, unchangable Dunder.  
  
Even he couldn't look past the destruction of his homeland. A shot rang out and harsh voices were yelling from not so far away.  
  
Kit tried to stand when all three heard a shrill screaming. Dunder put a beefy hand on the former navigator's thin shoulder and shook his head imperceptibly.  
  
Even Spigot had stopped speaking. They were in a half-collapsed building, right next to the pile of rubble where the two Thembrians had found Kit Cloudkicker.  
  
While Spigot had raged typically about spies and sabotage, Dunder had been totally shocked. There was no other description for it.  
  
Kit remembered himself being gently picked up off the ground and looking into the stunned, sickened expression of the large, soft-spoken warthog.  
  
If such a coincidence hadn't been surprising enough, neither had demanded an explanation. They had merely pulled necessities out of large, lumpy knapsacks and sat Kit down in front of a small, oil-burning stove.  
  
The two were.....changed. They no longer moved with fear and consequently, ineptness. They no longer looked like they didn't know which end was up.  
  
Guiltily Kit tried to remember more than one solitary story he had heard about the East and what had been going on there. He failed.  
  
Whatever the events, the two officers, while deceivingly the same were possessed of an efficiency for survival that Kit had seen nowhere else. It was astonishing.  
  
Of course, if any people had a penchance for suffering, it was the Thembrians.  
  
The city, though Kit knew otherwise, seemed deserted. The great Thembrian invasion that had been so dreaded had actually brought about a reprieve in the never-ending bombing.  
  
Still, the silence was unnerving. There were thousands of soldiers lurking inside the abandoned buildings. Kit had no idea of what they hoped to accomplish and frankly, he didn't care.  
  
Not anymore. He didn't care anymore. Maybe a few days ago, he could have tried to feel something, but now he was sickened to his core. He hadn't listened to Baloo, hadn't listened to Eric, but it really didn't matter anyway.  
  
It was the people here. Kit could recall a time, not so very long ago, when he had very little or no faith in people.  
  
~Ha! _Friends_?! I, don't have any friends.~ His own voice haunted him. So did a deeper one, full of love even when it was strained with frustration about the boy he was. ~Thanks, Papa Bear~  
  
"I'm sorry?" Kit slowly turned his bruised head to Dunder, who looked even more concerned.  
  
"Um, was it hard trying to get here Mr., er, Kit? We don't know much about what's west of here."  
  
"And that'th jutht as it thould be, Thergeant!!" Spigot bellowed.  
  
Dunder sighed deeply. "Lieutenant, Colonel, I was promoted two years ago, remember?"  
  
Kit could find nothing to even smile about with the exchange. The pint- sized Colonel had always been a tad, flighty, but now he seemed a bit unhinged.  
  
Dunder, shockingly, just ignored the other. Kit had never seen that before.  
  
"Mr. Baloo know you're here?"  
  
Kit felt a stab of pain that the officer caught. "Not really."  
  
"He'll be worried." An understatement from anyone else, the words from Dunder cut a hole in the erstwhile navigator.  
  
"I don't know what to do about that." Kit, for a moment, felt twelve again. Confused, angry and determined. But so very, very lost also. Something about seeing his old friend, alive and changed, wrenched him. It reminded him of something he couldn't get back and he didn't want to be reminded of that.  
  
He felt vulnerable and that feeling had always been _bad_ for Kit Cloudkicker. The large warthog put a hand over Kit's scratched one and patted it gently.  
  
Kit suddenly realized that Dunder had seen soldiers die. They might have even been his own men. He realized that brave men followed the Lieutenant and that Spigot was here because of Dunder's unflagging loyalty to others. Perhaps he had saved the Colonel from a fate worse than any the Marshall could concoct.  
  
He realized that Dunder was a leader and would become a 03great, if he ever had the opportunity. If he never went home.  
  
"You need to find a way to get out of here, Kit. You shouldn't be here, young man like you. You always did have quite a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mr. Baloo, um, he..."  
  
*Flew to Thembria to save me, never did anything without me, never wanted to leave me behind. He never wanted me to change, to grow up. But I did, and look what happened. Oh, Papa Bear, you were right all along. But you couldn't keep protecting me.*  
  
"Kit?"  
  
Kit was shaking. He wanted to tell Dunder something but the words wouldn't come.  
  
"We can take you to the river, but it won't be for awhile. Orders, y'know."  
  
"I hate that we've changed, Dunder." Kit choked out. He hated _himself_ for this moment. His cheeks burned and so did his eyes. The former sergeant looked wise, kind and very sad when he looked at the younger pilot.  
  
"I think that it was fate that you were right here for us to find ya. I know things are tense, things never were too good between Thembria and, any other place, but red tape can't be that bad, right?"  
  
Kit was shaking harder.  
  
"Red Tape?!! Sergeant Dunder, in my day you couldn't polith your tusks without the proper formth, and heaven forbid you didn't fill out twenty per tusk!! My own dear uncle, flatulent fraud though he wath, wath too lazy and alwayth went around with one tusk shiny and the other, well, dithgusting. You've all gotten soft, jutht becauth the High Marthall tharted to let whipperthnappers leading uth all around! By the Great Patriotic Flounder thingth have changed."  
  
Kit was crying. He was sobbing noiselessly into Dunder's large, dusty shoulder. The older Thembrian, his compassion finally put to good use, knew what was needed and said nothing.  
  
"It may look that way Mr. Cloudkicker. But the right things are never gonna change. The way people feel will never change."  
  
But Dunder was wrong and Kit pulled back, seeing the Thembrian as a stranger. There had been too much water under the bridge. His friend was gone. He liked this stranger but Kit no longer felt the comradeship that had existed before.  
  
He felt as though he had missed something very important and he'd been cheated. It wasn't as though he hadn't ever felt that way before.  
  
  
  
~Kit Cloudkicker tried to remember a time when he'd been so angry and humiliated and failed. If it wasn't bad enough that that wretched pirate was always pulling things like this, now he was in the same kind of situation without even a decent alibi to go with it!!  
  
He kicked at the large man behind him who could barely speak English but the thug didn't relinquish his grip. Kit's arms were losing their feeling and he could barely breath with that filthy, fish-smelling hand over his snout.  
  
He felt, for the first time in awhile, a tendril of fear creep into his gut. It wasn't as though Rebecca and Baloo had any money for a ransom. They weren't famous and he certainly wasn't the most obvious hostage.  
  
So what was going on?  
  
Then there had been that girl, the one who had been so anxious upon hearing his name. Why? Kit felt another strange feeling in his stomach that had little to do with fear.  
  
Though she was clothed in rags, the girl's hair caught the light like a mirror, it was so dark and shiny. Her eyes were shaped like almonds and Kit had felt himself getting lost in them.  
  
Even that soft accent was charming. He couldn't remember ever seeing a girl that beautiful before. Ms. Cunningham was pretty but this girl made his toes curl up and his hair stand on end.  
  
Or she had until he'd been snatched by this goon. He tried squirming again and had his breath squeezed out from his mid-section.  
  
"Boss wants you, don't give any more trouble small one. Only for a short time, fat bear get what he wants and we get same."  
  
Kit scowled, not believing a word of it. When they reached their destination, Kit wasn't too impressed. It looked like a seedy laundry establishment until one stepped inside.  
  
Jade, rubies, emeralds and gold coated the walls and doors. Kit gaped a bit as he was being carried into a large office-like room.  
  
The hand was removed from his mouth, but before he could unleash a storm of abuse on his abuductor, he gasped.  
  
The office chair turned and the most hideous being Kit had ever seen grinned at him maliciously. The thing had mottled green skin, a pointed nose, a few hairs that were greasy and long. Elongated yellow fingernails which were clasped into a 'T' along with his bony fingers were resting on the mahogany desk.  
  
A permeating smell wafted through the room and Kit, struggling against the larger goon, could feel him take a step back.  
  
"Let _go_ of me! You can't do this, I'm a Uslander citizen."  
  
"You are orphan and have no rights by our laws." The fish-being's raspy voice cut Kit's indignant words off.  
  
"This is bait, sir?"  
  
"Yes" A sinister chuckle raised the goosepimples on Kit's arms. "It would behoove you to be quiet, small one. You have been brought here for one purpose alone, and we will hope you have no trouble in fulfilling it. The large pilot bear seems fond of you, we will see how far it reaches tonight when he discovers you are amiss."  
  
Kit struggled harder. "What does Baloo have to do with any of this? All he's doin' is a job for Mz. Cunningham!"  
  
The grin widened and Kit saw yellow, razor-sharp teeth with bits of green seaweed in them. He shuddered and the monster seemed pleased at the reaction.  
  
"Yes, but neither of you have any idea of how important such a shipment is to me. The foolish ones outside this city wish for my power, but such is my ticket to getting rid of them once and for all. I must thank you for making it so easy."  
  
Kit saw red. "What about that girl? What's she done? How does she fit into your great master plan? I want to know what's happened to her!" Kit's voice echoed off of the glittering room's walls. "Just, who are you?! Some freakish creature from the black lagoon? You can't do this!!"  
  
The piranaha creature spoke some sharp words to the thug still holding Kit, who shrugged.  
  
"I know not of what you are speaking of idiot boy. If you so wish for more information, it is enough to know that I am Emuil Pirahna and I am used to having things my way. I can do whatever I wish, as long as you are here. I grow tired of this, let the fat pilot come to fetch him."  
  
Unlike Karnage, Kit later thought, these twerps had no idea that underestimating him was a bad idea. When the self-named, Emuil Pirahna came close enough, Kit sank his teeth into that pointed nose.  
  
The taste was revolting but the bite did the trick. Kit dashed around the room while the other two crashed into each other, howling in fury. He glanced behind him for one moment and it cost him dearly.  
  
A door slid shut from the other side and Kit collided with it painfully. His head spinning, he felt himself beign picked up. A skinny, strange- looking thug in glasses, wearing what looked like yellow pajamas, glared down at him.  
  
"No, no. Not good to run away, no. I want to see cowering, I wish to see those knees knocking."  
  
Kit, grimacing, brought a foot down on the other's sandled one as hard as he could. The goon yelped in pain but Kit was already surrounded by his other two friends.  
  
"Bind him. Make sure he cannot get free. He has caused enough trouble, I have no wish for him to cause more."  
  
Kit kicked and struggled but he was over-powered by the other two who dragged him into a drafty room, sat him down on a chair and twisted his arms behind him painfully.  
  
"I hope when Baloo finds out about this he tears your arms off then beats you with them. I hope that whatever karma your hokey religion has, has you racking up the worst points ever. I hope you're reborn as a slug, or a maggot, or..."  
  
The bespectacled goon's hand came down over Kit's mouth, cutting him off. Kit was now immobilized but that didn't stop him from trying to bite the other's hand.  
  
"Should we gag this squawking bird?"  
  
"Nothing was said of it." Both looked at Kit leerily. The cub had murder in his eyes, but he tried to look innocent.  
  
"Well boy, will you continue your ceaseless noise?" Kit nodded his head fervently and tried again to look sweet and innocence.  
  
When the two left minutes later, Kit couldn't swallow or breathe very well, the fabric over his snout was so tight. He cursed into it but didn't feel any better.  
  
He hoped Baloo was all right. As much as he hated letting people like this intimidate others into giving them what they wanted, he knew that Baloo would do it.  
  
Kit hated himself for getting caught, he hated that he was Baloo's Achilles heel and that he could always be used against the large pilot, just because he cared about him.  
  
He _really_ hated that he couldn't stop thinking about that girl. He had never given anything, let alone a flower to a girl before. But she...well, she....  
  
What was he _doing_? He needed to get out of here! Who knows what they wanted? Kit didn't believe for a second that they would let him go. He knew too much and now, Baloo probably did as well.  
  
Still, he couldn't live with himself if he did nothing to try and find that girl. Her eyes, Kit remembered seeing something in her eyes that he could relate to. Overpowering, encompassing loneliness.  
  
She had no one. He _had_ to find her! **************************************************************************  
  
*I _have_ find that kid!* Baloo thought, getting angrier and more anxious by the minute.  
  
It wasn't as though Kit had never scooted around curfew before. Or wandered off in a strange place. Whether they were in a city, in the mountains, desert, _wherever_, that kid was aging Baloo before his time.  
  
Baloo's worry was making him sick to his stomach. He'd had to pay that lousy crook of a dock lackey just to keep the Sea Duck docked for a few hours, then missed the shipment looking for his navigator!  
  
It was getting dark. Baloo glanced at the merchants closing up shop and felt real fear course through him. He wanted to kick himself for jumping to false conclusions, but something in him, some deep instinct that he couldn't name just yet was screaming for his attention.  
  
The kid was in trouble. Kit was in trouble. Baloo knew it, it was a parental instinct from a bear who didn't even know how to spell either word.  
  
He resisted his first urge to go running up and down the streets of the city, shouting Kit's name. He grabbed a few merchants, frantically asking about Kit before they shrugged at him. He remembered too late that they couldn't understand a word he said.  
  
Cursing fluently, he looked for a phone. He needed to call Becky to....  
  
*To what? Scare the bugger out o' her? If she finds out Kit's missing, or....* Baloo swallowed painfully, *somethin', she'll go bonkers. Need to be calm, need to stay calm, Calmness an' me, we go _way_ back an-*  
  
Baloo yelled and jumped quite high for a bear of his size when a cold hand grabbed his elbow and jerked him into a cramped alley.  
  
There were four other people in there, each looking about the same, with a concerned joe and a shifty weasel all talking like they meant it.  
  
Baloo shook his head. *What kinda city is this?*  
  
"You, bear. Missing something you need?" Baloo felt anger flash through him but clamped down on it with a trememdous effort.  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"You miss boy? Want to talk about it?"  
  
"What're you, my shrink? Get to the point, _now_" Baloo growled menancingly and the other gave up his game quickly. He motioned for Baloo to follow him. The large bear did, seeing few other alternatives.  
  
He followed the other through the near deserted streets, growing more and more uneasy all the time. The other didn't offer any more information and Baloo was willing himself again to stay calm.  
  
He was failing badly.  
  
Still, he had to admit that the joint where he was led to was real snazzy. Didn't look much like a place for kidnappers.  
  
Or so he thought until he saw the guy in charge.  
  
He gaped at the fish-like thing behind the huge mahogany desk in horror.  
  
"Really, Mr. Baloo, you flatter me. You know why you are here? Is quite simple, you give me what I want, I return boy."  
  
"Where is he?" Baloo's voice was low and very dangerous. "I want to see him."  
  
"He is unhurt, all is well. For now." Those pointed teeth grinned at Baloo, who felt his stomach drop out.  
  
"It is depending on you. Where is your shipment? It is mine, rightfully. Give it to me, I return whelp to you, fair?"  
  
Baloo felt sick. "I don't have it. I missed it today."  
  
The other's glassy fish eyes grew hard. "You had better be joking bear. Not only for your sake. I will take out my, er, _frustrations_ on the boy."  
  
Baloo's fists came up and the two thugs at his side barely stopped him in time. "You'll have more than yer frustrations taken out if you lay one finger on that kid. Where is he?! I'll turn you in so fast-"  
  
"Do so, and the boy is gone. You will never lay eyes on him again." The room's temperature dropped by degrees. Baloo knew he meant it.  
  
"I don't have what you want. What else is there?" The large pilot could have cared less about his dignity. The pleading in his voice was very sincere. "I could give you something else, anything else that you want. But don't hurt Kit, he doesn't have anything to do with-"  
  
But then, another goon, *how many does this guy have?* came and whispered something into the pirahna's um, ear.  
  
The fish-being's expression turned quite ugly, if that was possible from what it was before.  
  
He barked out an order that Baloo didn't understand and the large bear was dragged from the room.  
  
"Hey!! No, wait! Just let me see 'im! You rotten-" Then he was gone.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Kit was tired and bruised, the ropes cutting into his arms from his hours of struggling. At least the gag had come loose but apparently there was no one within yelling distance.  
  
Now, he was hoarse, exhausted and furious. He couldn't recall a situation that he hadn't been able to get out of somehow. The fact that he was no better off now than what he was hours before made him see red.  
  
A slight noise outside his door made him turn and stare. Slowly the door creaked open and a beautiful girl stood there, as bedraggled and dirty as the first time Kit had seen her.  
  
"_You_!" He gasped. "Who, how, w-what?" He shook his head and started over. "How did you get free?"  
  
The girl looked confused and stared at him intently. She began chewing on her bottom lip and Kit knew she was thinking something over carefully.  
  
"Help!!" She suddenly yelled, catching him off guard. She began rocking his chair roughly.  
  
"The boy, he is trying to escape! Guards!!"  
  
"Are you nuts?!" Kit hissed, even as the chair toppled over and he wriggled out of his bonds.  
  
"Go!"  
  
"But..."  
  
"GO!!" It was only a half-hour later. Kit thought it felt like a week. He'd thought the girl was a prisoner, then a traitor, then...he had no idea what.  
  
Was he so gullible? What on earth made him care anyway? Baloo was yelling frantically at him, holding his arm.  
  
They had barely made it out of Pirahna's palace. Baloo, whom Kit might tease later, had been in some suicidal sumo match with a bull on testosterone. They had been shot at, bombed, pursued and even shouted at on top of everything else.  
  
But what Kit was most confused about now was the girl. This lovely girl whom he didn't understand at all. He didn't _need_ her did he? He didn't _want_ to get to know her, spend more time with her, maybe even something...else?  
  
Baloo pulled Kit into the Sea Duck as a cannon ball splashed the water mere inches from where he'd been.  
  
"KIT! Let's go, we have to get out of here!" The fear was still in the large pilot's eyes. For him. Baloo had nearly crushed his navigator's ribs seeing him safe, not mentioning anything about Kit actually rescuing _him_ for a change.  
  
Kit tried to wrench out of Baloo's grip, trying to ignore the pain that flashed across the larger bear's face.  
  
"NO!!" But the Sea Duck was taking off. The girl, *I didn't even find out her name*, just stood there, her long hair whipping in the Sea Duck's wake. Kit watched her, saw her uncle being hauled away by the authorities, probably to be freed in a day or so.  
  
He thought he saw her wipe something on her face. The last thing he saw was a flower in her hand. The one he'd given her. Then, the Sea Duck was inside the night clouds, rising over them and to safety.  
  
Kit sat there for a long time, quiet and hurt. Baloo kept shooting him concerned glances, knowing that the boy was physically fine, except for a few bumps and scrapes. It was that melancholy expression that worried the pilot.  
  
"Papa Bear?"  
  
"Yeah, Little Britches?" Baloo hoped that Kit would turn to look at him, but he didn't.  
  
"Why would a girl _not_ do something she really wanted to do? It doesn't make any sense!"  
  
"_GIRLS_?!! Yer askin' me to explain _Girls_?! Kit, I'll tell you true, it's easier to chase chickens barefoot on greased linoleum than to explain girls."  
  
After an initial look of confusion, Kit seemed to sink further down in his seat. "That's what I was afraid of." Then he said no more.  
  
It was the sun peaking through the cliffs of Cape Suzette that finally prompted Baloo to speak up. The view was so beautiful, and the pilot finally allowed himself to feel the relief that he'd experienced when Kit had just shown up to help him, safe and sound.  
  
"Little Britches?"  
  
"Hmm?" Kit was still looking out the window.  
  
"You sure yer all right?"  
  
"Yeah, sure." The navigator didn't sound like it though.  
  
"That filthy piece o' garbage didn't hurt ya? Hit ya or anythin'? 'Cause if he did, I'll personally see to it that he don't have any o' those fancy teeth left to-"  
  
"I'm _fine_ Baloo. I can take care of myself."  
  
Baloo looked saddened. "Yeah, I know Kit."  
  
Kit finally turned to look at him, confused at the large bear's tone. "I'm sorry Papa Bear."  
  
Baloo waved a beefy hand at his navigator, the two's secret signal that said, "that's fine, forget about it _right now_."  
  
"I mean, I'm sorry that I um, make you worry. You and Miss Cunningham. I'm like a spare wheel, an' I'm always gettin' in trouble. I guess you both don't need that."  
  
"You didn't do nothin' wrong, kiddo. It was all that fruity Pirahna's scheme. Threatenin' kids. Guy should be taught-"  
  
"Baloo" Kit cut the pilot off just in time. "I, um...I'm confused. I'm real confused."  
  
The gray bear looked at his navigator and was stunned by what he saw. Kit, tough, independent Kit, never looked like this. He was absolutely lost. And young, Kit looked like he was eight instead of thirteen.  
  
Miss Cunningham was waiting for them, a blanket around her shoulders when the Sea Duck pulled into Higher for Hire, docking. Baloo ignored her for just a few minutes more, however and held Kit for as long as the boy needed it.  
  
"I know Kit. I know, you're safe and it'll work itself out. Trust me, you just gotta trust me and have faith in yer ol' Papa Bear. I, er...love you, Little Britches."  
  
Kit was shocked. No one had ever told him that, at least not that he could remember. He held Baloo as tightly as the other bear held him and the two stayed that way while Rebecca Cunningham waited apprehensively outside.  
  
"It'll be okay, I promise."~ ************************************************************************  
  
"Kit?" The stove had gone out.  
  
Kit had dozed off. Spigot was snoring like a buzzsaw in his corner but Dunder was still as wide-awake as before. Kit wondered if he slept at all now.  
  
"I gotta go, Kit. Don't go anywhere, all right? I need to control some of this looting that's going on. Standard procedure." Then the large warthog disappeared.  
  
Kit was nervous about the officer going, though his better sense told him that Dunder certainly knew what he was doing by now, probably much more so than Kit ever would.  
  
He stared out of the empty doorway, trying to make out anything in the streets. Then he saw it.  
  
Smashed windows, furniture, everything. Clothes strewn out in the street, everything seemed destroyed. This wasn't from the bombing, it hadn't been here before, according to Kit's memory.  
  
He then saw a group of Thembrian soldiers silently hauling sack after sack out of a gutted building that had probably once been a department store. They were barely distinguishable in the darkness.  
  
Kit heard more shots from farther away, several more screams, glass breaking and the harsh language that he wasn't used to.  
  
Before he could figure out what to do next, Dunder reappeared startlingly. The Lieutenant looked very worried and that worried Kit.  
  
"Kit, there's something going on. Orders I wasn't aware of. This city is, dangerous, maybe more so than before." Dunder was avoiding Kit's eyes. Kit felt apprehension creep up like a thief.  
  
"I can't leave, I need to try and keep some order. It's quiet here but it won't last. There are, _changes_. I can tell you where to go."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Trust me Kit, you don't want to be here come tomorrow."  
  
"I didn't want to be here at all!!"  
  
The two stared each other down, Kit practically daring him to ask the question and Dunder knowing it. The Thembrian, however, didn't.  
  
"Go west, it's still across the city but it's the only thing. It's going to get worse, Kit Cloudkicker. I'm, sorry."  
  
It was the last thing Dunder said to him. Kit had the feeling that it had to do with more than their current situation.  
  
The young pilot barely spared the stoically sleeping Spigot a glance as he packed supplies that Dunder had generously provided him. He would have given anything for his compass, but that couldn't be helped.  
  
Come sunrise, he'd know where to go.  
  
May 4, 1945  
  
  
  
Lindon, Anglia  
  
  
  
"'Ey, watch it Guv'ner!"  
  
"Yeah, takin' a ride on the nuclear, 'ere?"  
  
"Lookin' sound, fer a overseas outstander, comin' to?"  
  
Baloo looked as helpless as Max had ever seen him. Trying to control his laughter, he kept leading the large bear away from the large crowd of peddlers on Lindon's east side.  
  
"Wazzat English they were speakin'?" Baloo asked, huffing and puffing when the two had finally reached the telegraph station. It smelled as though it had barely been re-built, which, Baloo reminded himself, it probably had.  
  
The office was 90% female, something else he wasn't used to seeing. It was yet another unpleasant reminder.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"I said, big guy, that after you hear the rhyming after awhile, you pick up on what they're actually saying."  
  
"What, like a code er somethin'?" Baloo scratched his head.  
  
Max shrugged, his threadbare bomber creasing. "Guess so. Crazy, these Limeys."  
  
They were both silent for some time, Baloo trying to guess what Max might be thinking and Max keeping clear of the maze that was Baloo's predicament. Or trying to.  
  
"No sign of the weasel?"  
  
"Racoon."  
  
"I _know_ that, idjit. Finger o' speech."  
  
Baloo shot the younger pilot a dirty look. "No, nothin'."  
  
Silence again.  
  
"Don't get easier, Baloo." Max said, his young face looking very aged suddenly. He focused out of the window and Baloo felt alone, as though the dog was millions of miles away.  
  
Baloo didn't trust his voice. He glanced down at the finger-marked piece of paper that he would be sending to Becky in a few moments. Once again, he blessed the comforting numbness that had encompassed him. It kept him from feeling and thinking too much.  
  
After Eric's sickening revelation, Baloo had thundered and raged like a full-blown hurricane. His anger hadn't abated for some time. Because he'd known that it wouldn't do any good at all.  
  
No matter what Eric had told him, no matter what his empty reassurances had been, Baloo knew.  
  
He couldn't look at it just yet. But he knew.  
  
Surprisingly, Max, his young companion throughout this magnificent mess, had stuck by him. He had come to Lindon, though Baloo didn't remember asking him to accompany him. He had remained uncharacteristically silent. He had even helped Baloo phrase what it was he was going to have to say.  
  
And Baloo, just starting his long, long journey, almost envied Max, who was coming to an end of his. That pathway which was their shared grief. It seemed so small in such an overwhelming place. It even seemed selfish with so many having lost so much.  
  
But that hollow look in people's eyes, the way shoulders stooped and smiles showed rare and insincere. All of that told Baloo that they were part of a larger picture. It was no comfort, but misery did indeed love company.  
  
"He was my younger brother." Max's voice didn't choke up, or break. It was strong and steady.  
  
"I loved him so damn much. He was a pest and an annoyance, always breakin' my stuff and tryin' to crash in wit' my friends. He did every little stupid thing I ever did and it drove me crazy."  
  
Baloo felt something begin to ache deep inside. He said nothing.  
  
Max could have been made of stone, he was so still. Others waiting in line passed them by, Baloo waving them on. It was like they were in another world, with Max and Baloo trapped in a future that they didn't have to share.  
  
If he didn't hurt so damned much, he would hate them.  
  
"He went to the train station and I went to suit up at the airfield. He held out a hand to me and I waved him off. I can still see him plain as day, grinnin' like the devil, hand outstretched. Last thing I think I said to 'im was, 'See ya when I see ya' an' he said, 'Good luck'."  
  
"It was like we was strangers. I thought o' a million things I wanted to say after, not all o' 'em pleasant. I pictured how it happened time after time. Got so's I couldn't sleep no more. Then, after I met Sophie, I went back. You an', um, Eric were talking."  
  
Baloo remembered.  
  
"He was there, Baloo. He was right there, waitin' fer me by my cot. An' he was like, you stupid so and so, I'm dead but you're not. You've gotta let me go. An' when I said I couldn't, there was too much to be said he grinned that ol' grin and shook his head. He said, 'Nothin' you coulda said that day woulda been anythin' I didn't already know my whole life through. Idiot. You need to be happy. I know you won't forget, but you can't stay here in the past. You just can't. Then he was gone, just faded away like a dream."  
  
Baloo was shaking. Max looked back at him, his face peaceful but etched with deep pain.  
  
"Sorry Baloo. I should've stopped him."  
  
"No, Max. I hadta let 'im go....too."  
  
"Next!!" The voice made both pilots jump.  
  
Baloo tried to ready himself. But he couldn't. Gods he just couldn't do it.  
  
He turned back to Max, who raised an eyebrow. "Whatcha lookin' at me for? He's your son. You can go back and try and live without 'im, or you can search like hell until you find 'im. Though I warn ya, I'm a god-awful navigator."  
  
Baloo's hands were shaking. "I really hate you sometimes, you know that? I mean I can't stand you, kid. Royal pain in my rump, always changing yer mind, wish you'd pick a personality then _stay_ with it."  
  
"NEXT!!" The rhinoceros behind the telegraph machine was looking mighty annoyed.  
  
"Was all that blather so's we could have a conference?" Max asked, a sardonic edge to his already sharp but mellowed voice.  
  
"Er, jus' a minute more. Jus' _one_ I promise!" Baloo gestured frantically to the clerk.  
  
"Look 'ere, _mate_, if'n you-"  
  
But the impatient clerk was being ignored.  
  
"Well, what's it gonna be?" Max asked, sounding nearly as impatient as the telegraph clerk.  
  
"I, I...um, don't know where ta look, we can't get through."  
  
"Hate to burst yer bubble, o' flatulent one, but there're more ways to get to where I'm guessin' you wanna be than a direct route. I've gotta plane, so do you, though'll I'll take yer word for it."  
  
Baloo looked pretty steamed now so Max cut to the chase.  
  
"Yer choice, but I'll help."  
  
Baloo looked at the young pilot who, for all of his grating personality quirks, he now considered a friend.  
  
"What's a way that we can go?" Baloo asked, the old glint of determination back in his eyes, much to Max's relief.  
  
"_Excuse_ me, er, gentlemen but-"  
  
"Shut up!!" Both pilots bellowed at the clerk, who looked affronted.  
  
"New plan, then?" Max asked, casually.  
  
"You just wanna meet up with that pretty waitress."  
  
"Guilty, as charged. Now, I think you still need to message yer _mum_ to tell her about the situation, changed though it has."  
  
"Shut it, kid." Baloo grunted. "All ready!" He then turned a 100-watt smile onto the clerk, who looked murderous.  
  
"Destination?"  
  
"Higher for Hire, Cape Suzette."  
  
May 5, 1945  
  
Higher for Hire  
  
Wildcat was trying to remember a time in the recent past when he'd seen Miss Cunningham look so angry.  
  
She was clutching a telegraph in her hand and wringing it out. She then threw it on the floor and jumped up and down on it in an undignified manner. She kicked it, she spit on it, she ground her heel onto it.  
  
Then she read it and re-read it and the process started again.  
  
"Er, Miss Cunningham?" The lion asked, meekly.  
  
"What is it, Wildcat?!" Rebecca asked through gritted teeth.  
  
"Um, someone give you a crank call? I hate those, I spent all night once lookin' for my refrigerator because someone said it was running. Good thing it didn't take that long to find my nose, only a few hours, so it couldn't have run...very.....far."  
  
Wildcat trailed off at Miss Cunningham's expression.  
  
"Wildcat, you know that you're the best mechanic I've seen and you know that times are rough. I hope you also know that you're my friend and I care about you but if you don't get your grease monkey behind out of my personal space in the next nanosecond I'll take your best wrenches and make sure it will take several days for you to find them again. Not to mention the havoc they will wreak on your digestive system. Am I making myself absolutely clear?"  
  
The lion had already fled.  
  
Rebecca tried for the fifth time to read through Baloo's message without losing full control of her faculties. He had learned, oh yes. That crafty ball of fat and fur had learned long ago when it was okay to make her mad. And that was never.  
  
He had just casually informed her that since there was no way to get to the city where Kit might still be, *if he's still alive*, Rebecca shook that chilling thought off, he was going through another route.  
  
Which was fine, if it was somewhere comparatively safe like a volcano, or a blizzard, even a pirate attack or two along the way, but no. He was going through the Falkans.  
  
And although he might read up on current events any more than what he had to, she did. That place was a seething cauldron of unrest, hate and violence. On the ground.  
  
He had sent the telegram and Rebecca had tried nearly everything in her power to contact him right after he'd sent it. But that wretched bear had sent it and left immediately after. It almost frightened her how well the pilot knew her and her moods by now.  
  
Rebecca didn't want to assess why she was so angry. She wanted to say that it was because he had just gone and done something else to add to his long list of stupid deeds. He would be endangering her property, he hadn't even _bothered_ to consult her or discuss the extremes that may have made him make this decision.  
  
But she knew that all of them, irritating though they were, didn't hold a candle to the real reason.  
  
The pain that had come with Kit's disappearance had been a deep and terrible blow. And though it would take years, possibly the rest of her life, she could heal. It was something she couldn't face now, however.  
  
But the thought of Baloo in danger, hurt or dead. She winced visibly at that. Well, it....well, um, what was the difference?  
  
She loved them both with all of her heart. They were all her family. But if Baloo were to never return, Rebecca knew a hole would be opened inside of her that would fester and poison, never, ever healing properly.  
  
And she didn't know what that would do to her, or to her daughter. She didn't even understand it. She just knew it was real.  
  
Sometimes things didn't have to put into words. There were actually times when it was too awkward. It made Rebecca want to scream in frustration. It made her writhe and kick herself mentally. But she could not, would not, push it away.  
  
And now, that stupid bear had just gone off and left her, putting himself in danger. It was different than before. She knew that she couldn't maintain contact with him, even if she could be certain that he would even try.  
  
"Mom?" Rebecca looked up. She didn't understand the shock on Molly's face until she felt the wetness on her own.  
  
"What happened? Mom, what's happened?! Oh no, no!! Mommy?!" Molly's terrified voice jolted Rebecca out of her funk.  
  
"Shhh, it's okay baby. Nothing's wrong with either Kit or Baloo, _yet_" she said, ominously, though she held her daughter tightly.  
  
Molly looked lovelier than usual today and even in her black mood Rebecca registered it. A blue peacoat covering her gray slacks brought out the golden color of her fur and hair.  
  
"Mom? What's _wrong_ with you?!"  
  
For Rebecca had started to cry, small whimpering sobs that greatly alarmed Molly.  
  
"Y-y-you're g-g-grow-wing up so fast. You l-l-look beaut-tiful. That, stupid, fat, imb-b-becile!"  
  
Molly gently led her mother to the worn armchair and looked for the phone. If her mom had lost her mind then it was best to stay calm and deal with the situation.  
  
Then Molly saw the telegram. She gingerly picked it up. After reading it, she gazed at her mom thoughtfully.  
  
"Mom, do you remember when I thought you and Baloo should get married?"  
  
Rebecca weakly made to stand up, decided it wasn't worth the effort and buried her face into her hands. She nodded.  
  
"Well, at the time it was because I wanted a dad and Baloo was the closest thing I had to that when I was growing up. It wasn't as if you weren't a great mom, you're the best, but...."  
  
"I understand" Rebecca said tiredly, not really caring where the conversation was going.  
  
"Do you? You've played hard to get since you and Baloo met. And that's really not your fault either since he's played harder to get."  
  
Rebecca looked shocked but Molly ignored it.  
  
"You're not really going to let him go, are you?"  
  
Rebecca's bottom lip twitched. "I-I-I, d-don't have much of a s-say. Not anymore."  
  
"That's where you're wrong mother. I think we need to take a trip abroad."  
  
Rebecca looked up, her daughter must be joking. Why it was absolutely _ridiculous_. She had a business to run, and what kind of respectable person galavants all over the globe, especially in the current situation, especially.....  
  
Then again, when had she _ever_ done things the conventional way? She had dressed up like a gangster's moll, switched places with a pirate, flown a giant iceberg, nearly fallen out of a moving airplane _several_ times, even knocked out men twice her size.  
  
But....  
  
"If I do go, what makes you think you'll be coming with me?" She asked weakly, seeing the triumphant flash in Molly's eyes.  
  
"Because there isn't anyone here to look after me and you'd never forgive yourself if I ran off with some playboy here in Cape Suzette because I was starved for a little adult supervision."  
  
"Molly Cunningham!!"  
  
Molly rolled her eyes. "Really Mom, I love Wildcat, he's a dear but do you really think he's the right guardian for a teenage girl just entering her turbulent years?" She batted her eyes.  
  
"That's dirty pool young lady and you know it!!"  
  
"Come _on_ Mom. They're my family too."  
  
Rebecca wondered at her sanity. "Let me make a few phone calls. And you'd better pack sensibly!!"  
  
Two hours later, Molly was nearly regretting her little pep talk when her and her mother had quabbled over how many suitcases to take and what would be suitable to wear.  
  
But when they boarded the large plane to take them to Lindon, Rebecca grasped Molly's hand tightly and Molly smiled at her mom. Love wasn't always romantic, but it was well worth waiting for.  
  
A fleeting picture of Kit flashed before her and Molly felt that familiar stab of pain, before it released her.  
  
Whatever the consequences of their actions, at least the other half of their small but loving family would know that under no circumstances did abandon each other. Any time, any place.  
  
Eric didn't know how long he'd been walking. He had long since lost count of how many soldiers he'd passed and he really didn't care.  
  
They all looked the same, dirty, exhausted and beaten. And they were the victorious ones.  
  
Eric's jeep had broken down, though he had driven on a flat tire and had used up his seemingly inexhaustive supply of curse words on it.  
  
So, he was on foot.  
  
Over and over again he asked himself why he was doing what he was. He didn't owe anything to that large bear, nor was he truly responsible, regardless of how he sometimes felt.  
  
Eric fingered Kit's compass in one calloused hand. It's surface, though scratched and smudged, was still impossibly bright. It reminded him of Kit.  
  
Eric sighed. That wretched boy. Everything reminded him of Kit. And if he found the boy? What would he do then?  
  
Confess to everyone and hope that with everything else going on they wouldn't notice his lack of character?  
  
Tell him where to go and then leave it at that. Find the body and return it to the family?  
  
That last idea made Eric shiver. No. He'd done that too many times. Bloody hell, he hated it.  
  
He really wasn't the villain here. As more days passed, he realized that no one was. No one. And that scared him.  
  
It was as if all of the destruction and pain was for nothing. Again.  
  
"Hey pops! Outta the way!!" Eric jumped out of his skin as a rough, young voice yelled out.  
  
"Got some wounded here. Found 'em miles back, c'mon gramps."  
  
Eric glared daggers at the bedraggled soldier, who just grinned cheekily back.  
  
"Plenty o' room 'ere, son" Eric said acidly, resisting the urge to 'V' the fellow.  
  
"Plenty of wounded too. Come to think of it, you look like you could use a lift too. You're goin' in the wrong de-rection. War's over, or did you forget?"  
  
"Now you listen-"  
  
Eric was cut off by voices in the back of the tented truck.  
  
"Aw, shut it Charlie!!" "We wanna go home too, save it fer the payin' crowd." "Don't know about you, but Linber was as close as I wanna get to any Alemanians ever again, so floor it, ya bloody ijit!"  
  
It was that last voice that jolted Eric. He paused for a moment, then spoke up.  
  
"Sure, I could use a lift. Want me to tell you where ta go?"  
  
"Oh, you're hysterical pops. There's a reason why we don't like your types' humor."  
  
Eric grumbled but climbed in. He winced when he heard some joints pop and creak and tried to ignore the looks of sympathy from the battered soldiers lying haphazardly in the back.  
  
"What're you doin' way out here? Not much o' a uniform too. Special assignment?" A very young looking fox with his ear bandaged spoke quietly to Eric.  
  
The raccoon, however, wasn't in the mood for small talk. "Who was it that spoke up earlier? The chap with the accent? Come on now, kip together there, let me through."  
  
Loud groans and guffaws met this statement.  
  
"One wit' the accent he says! Like we all don't have accents o' some kind."  
  
"How're you fer talkin' fancy-pants? Sounds rather, top drawer to me."  
  
More laughter.  
  
Eric didn't heed any of it. His eyes met those of a very pale, weak but cheerful youth. A dingo.  
  
"You mean me, old gent?" The heavy Oceanic accent was softer now, but unmistakable.  
  
"Yes." Eric pulled himself over some bodies, apologizing whenever he stood on something soft, and made himself as comfortable as possible as the truck lurched it's way along.  
  
"You came from the city."  
  
"Sure enough. Not a pretty picture, eh? All's blown to 'ell and no one, nor nothin' to re-build."  
  
"Why were you there?"  
  
The dingo shrugged. "Crashed. Rotten luck, felt as foolish as a new-born joey but can't do anythin'"  
  
Eric suddenly felt very foolish but was spared asking any more vague questions when the dingo eyed him sharply.  
  
"You don' wanna go anywhere near there, mate. Death-trap. Seen too many good lads vanish."  
  
Eric's breath caught. The dingo was looking at his compass.  
  
"Nice trinket there. Yours?"  
  
"A..Friend's."  
  
"Looks familiar, somehow, but me head's been bangered so much can't tell which way is up. Not too bad where I'm comin' from but bad enough here."  
  
"My name's Eric, I'm not used to manners."  
  
"Eh, that's all right. Me name's Robert, born and raised a half a world away. Please ta meet ya."  
  
The two didn't say anything more for awhile, though Robert occasionally winced from the bumpy ride.  
  
"How did you get out?" Eric finally asked.  
  
"I was found. Thembrians, near dead I was. They fished me out and sent me packin'. Not the friendliest o' blokes but I guess I was lucky. They ain't botherin' to send any more out. Too bad too, plenty o' lads there wanting to come home. Why, even this last lad I was jawin' at afore the sky fell. Uslander, bad situation that. Don't think he cottoned on to how much trouble we was all in. Hope he got out, by the time I woke up I weren't nowhere near where I started and covered with a ton o' rubble. Bloody mess."  
  
"Hmm, too bad, sure." Robert continued, seeing that Eric wasn't especially talkative. "Young lad, younger even'n me." The dingo grinned and Eric, despite everything, found himself smiling back.  
  
"Even had a family back at home. Lots do, but Kit sure seemed anxious ta get back to see them."  
  
Eric felt a wave of shock pass through him. "Kit, Kit C-C-Cloudkicker?"  
  
Robert gaped at him. "How in bloody all did you know that?!"  
  
"Not important. Listen to me, I want to know where you last where, the last time you saw Mr. Cloudkicker. It's very important."  
  
"But, 'ere now, wait a minute! Who are you?! You can't think that yer goin' back there? Yer mad, ya can't get in!!"  
  
"So I've heard" Eric said shortly. "We'll see, that's all I'll say."  
  
Robert just looked at him until Eric lost his patience. "I don't have all the time in the world, lad! This is a desperate situation!! That kid's father is here, very close by, looking for him!! I know how to get in there and I will do it!!"  
  
Robert's cheerful, open face closed up. "Think yer immortal, eh? Ya can't go back there, the Thembrians ain't our friends anymore. Sure, think yer tough an' all that, my dad served in the Great War too, an' he saw things that gave him nightmares till he died. Made him drink too much and care too little. He lost mates at Galipolis, plenty o' em. Mainly thanks to yer kind, no offense now."  
  
Eric sighed and ran a hand over his face.  
  
"None taken"  
  
Robert picked at the blanket covering him before throwing one arm up into the air.  
  
"Ah, yer mad! Nutters, all the way, but I'll tell ya. If he's alive, then here's hopin' ya find him."  
  
Eric looked even more determined and the young dingo felt a stirring of respect for the old pilot. "Er, good luck too."  
  
"I'll need it."  
  
Eric shook his hand briefly, thanked him for the information and hopped out of the slow moving truck. He didn't look back at the soldiers calling after him.  
  
  
  
Author's Notes;  
  
Yep, it's been nearly three years. I put SOI on a back burner for a long time for several reasons. 1. I was getting ready to go to Graduate school, (which I finished, woohoo!!) 2. I was getting ready to graduate and 3. I really didn't think that the interest existed for me to continue it.  
  
Well, I just wanted to say thank you so very much for everyone who has reviewed, been supportive and kind and kept interested in this fic. It really is my baby and I sometimes have way too much fun working on it. There may or may not be two more chapters coming, it depends on whether or not I can wrap it up. We're getting there. Thank so to everyone, truly. TaleSpin lives on and I'm so happy that a love for history does also. You're all terrific.  
  
Some credit is due. Several concepts and names were invented by Dan Green, and all recognition goes to him. They are used with his permission (thanks!)  
  
Also, if a certain portion of this fic seems familiar, you can find the inspiration for it in the March, 1993 edition of Disney Adventures. The TaleSpin comic there, "The Girl from Spango-Bango" was the very general basis for it. I certainly don't want to plagiarize, or to take credit from the great comic. I only used bits and pieces of it, and a few lines of dialogue, the rest is my own twisted, artistic license. Look it up, folks, it's a fun little story.  
  
Take care and the next segment will be out before Thanksgiving. -Aly 


	5. Chapter 5

Sphere of Influence  
  
Chapter Five  
  
Disclaimer; TaleSpin still belongs to Disney and all I can do is dream about the good ol' days when series such as TaleSpin were being created and supported by the Mouse. My toleration for Disney is gone, but TaleSpin still belongs to them and all credit for it and the characters that were created goes to them, as well as my humble thanks for one last stab of dabbling in such a fascinating world.  
  
Author's Notes; All thanks goes, as always, to the Spinners of the TS community. Although they change, the fan-base remains essentially the same, terrific. You're all wonderful and if you hadn't provided me with feedback for ongoing three years, I would have never finished this. Thank you, it truly means the world to me that SOI will be read and understood for what I wanted it to be, a message.  
  
To Alissa, LOL, thank you so much for your comments. To answer your question, since it is a very good one, in the SOI universe Kit turns of age when the war is winding down. Some historians say there was no way to know when the war would actually end, but the truth is that the end was in sight. So Kit, respecting Baloo and Rebecca's wishes, didn't enlist to fight, he went over to use his skills as a pilot in some other way. This, obviously, didn't fit his character and didn't satisfy him and it's a good thing too, or else where would my story be? :-) So the rest of the story is devoted to this tug of war between the three, letting Kit go and trying to support him but having to deal with the consequences of war. Tough decision. I hope that answers your question, (It's actually based off of my grandfather, who turned 18 the day the war ended with the Japanese so he couldn't fight but was immediately shipped to Korea for peace-keeping there, in 1945. Five years before the Korean War would start. Go figure)  
  
Just one more thing; This is the darkest of my chapters, in my own opinion, so you have been warned. There are, obviously, lines I don't want to cross but in terms of violence and other things, it might even gain an 'R' rating, but hopefully not.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Aftermath  
  
Have you forgotten yet?..... For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days, Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways: And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go, Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.  
  
But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game...... Have you forgotten yet? Look down, and swear by the slain of War that you'll never forget.  
  
Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz-- The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets? Do you remember the rats; and the stench Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench-- And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?  
  
Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'  
  
Do you remember that hour of din before the attack-- And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men? Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back With dying eyes and lolling heads--those ashen-grey Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?  
  
Have you forgotten yet?..... Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget  
  
-Siegfried Sassoon, March 1919  
  
May 1945  
  
Falkans, Europa  
  
"Coohee, did you _ever_ see such a mess as 'is?" Baloo was staring out the window of the Sea Duck. The view that greeted him was unlike any he could ever imagine.  
  
Max, who had finally stopped grumbling about the choice of who got to fly, glanced out of his own window and shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
"Now what's that about? You can't possibly tell me that this was what you expected, kid." Baloo growled, his own mood strained.  
  
"We saw worse where we was at before. I thought the war was harsher here."  
  
"Oh, come off it kid. I...well, I sure don't know how those folks down there will ever be able to pick themselves up again." Baloo scoffed at the younger pilot.  
  
Max shrugged again and settled down further into his seat. Baloo stared at him for a minute, memories overtaking him.  
  
The only one to have sat there for years was Kit. *Kit should be there now*  
  
If Baloo looked long enough he could see the boy he'd once known. Skinny, hair that flopped over a tough but vulnerable face. That baggy sweater that had covered his short, lean form. That hat, Baloo's first gift to his navigator.  
  
"I got somethin' on my face, Baloo?"  
  
Baloo blinked and it was Max there. _Of course_ it was Max, not Kit. The gray bear had lost himself in a kind, yet dangerous fantasy. Kit, though he'd grown up, hadn't really changed in Baloo's eyes.  
  
He would always be the boy that Baloo associated things with that the older bear never thought he wanted, or could have. Like family, or the love for a child. _His_ child.  
  
"Just......rememberin'"  
  
Baloo turned his attention back to flying, always his own escape. But not before he caught that flash of sympathy that had first made him like the younger pilot.  
  
Baloo, feeling a bit raw inside, took a plunge. "How old was yer brother, kid?"  
  
Max blanched and Baloo immediately regretted his rash question.  
  
"I'm, sorry kiddo. Really. Didn't mean to-"  
  
"Nineteen. He was only nineteen."  
  
Baloo gulped. Younger than Kit. Dear God.  
  
Max's face was stoic, except for the eyes. "He didn't have a sweetheart or anythin' back home, if that's somethin' else you want to know. Just me, and my mom."  
  
Baloo didn't want to ask, and he was spared the trouble. "She did take it rough. I guess I shoulda come home. But I couldn't, you think that was wrong?"  
  
Max looked sincere and Baloo felt a twinge inside before shaking his head. The large bear actually understood, he knew where he _should_ be, but couldn't be just yet. To go back to Higher for Hire now would mean that Kit....Kit might never....he would be gone.  
  
Baloo unclenched his fists, catching Max's look of concern.  
  
"Yeah, sure is a mess."  
  
Baloo raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. "You still got the directions we need?"  
  
"Yeah, but like I told ya Baloo, the guy was pretty direct. He thought we were both off our rockers fer even considerin' comin' here. I said you wanted to make sure."  
  
Max suddenly seemed to realize that he'd picked his words poorly. "Or wanted to search for someone."  
  
Baloo himself was too tired to take offense. Tired from flying and even more exhausted from fighting off that same thought that Max had unconsciously voiced. He needed to be sure that Kit wouldn't be coming home. That he was really dead.  
  
There, that thought. He'd finally, finally done it. He'd formed the word, but the image......  
  
It passed before Baloo's eyes. Kit, his body broken and bloody and that face that Baloo loved more than anything else slack and empty. All of the life, the dreams, hopes, everything gone in a heartbeat.  
  
"Are you all right Baloo?" Now Max seemed truly concerned.  
  
"Talk kid. Just talk right now. Get me outta this, I think I'm gonna be sick."  
  
Max made to undo his safety belt. "You wanna change places?"  
  
The look that Baloo gave him was sufficient enough for him to sit back down in a hurry. "Just askin'" He grumbled. "Got you thinkin' of somethin' else, right?"  
  
But Baloo wasn't. Not really.  
  
"I _hate_ him."  
  
Max folded and unfolded his hands carefully before replying. He didn't even need to ask who it was the other pilot was referring to.  
  
"Because of Kit? I'm not fond of him either. He's a real bastard, actually. But.....Kit went off on his own. Eric should have told him, tried to stop him, _something_ sure, but Kit would've probably still gone. It was wrong what Eric did, but he's not the only one, Baloo."  
  
Baloo looked at Max and the dog immediately felt like the lowest scum being scrapped off of an abandoned fish tank.  
  
"I don't care what that son of a bitch did or didn't do. He's alive, and Kit isn't. Kit deserved to live, he was the best soul anyone could ever know. He was good, _really_ good, and smart and just....amazing. And he's dead, and that _Eric_ for everythin' he did and saw is still alive. I can't forgive that."  
  
Max felt like he couldn't breathe. The grief, that terrible, incomprehensible grief that he thought he understood was only the tip of the iceberg. Baloo was crying. He was sobbing, his body heaving with the torture of the emotions that were being pulled from him.  
  
"He's dead. Kid, my boy is dead, I'll never see him again, never. I'll never be able to...know, or tell him."  
  
"I'm taking over." Max whispered. Baloo didn't offer any resistance. They switched places in one fluid motion.  
  
Max felt all of his barriers shatter then. And he knew that he would never understand. The pain that the other pilot was going through was something deeper than what he'd yet experienced.  
  
It felt like a weight on his own shoulders, and it hurt. No one should have to suffer this way. Not Baloo, not his lady friend back home....not his own mom. No one.  
  
Baloo was still sobbing. "Kit, oh god. Kit! My boy, the best of anyone I ever knew. I loved him, Max. Why, why me? Why him? You gotta tell me."  
  
"Baloo" Max's voice was soft but strong. Something in it finally broke through the agony that the bear was feeling.  
  
"You don't know that Kit is dead. And you _cannot_ give up. I know you love him, hell someone'd _have_ to be dead not to see it. If you give up, then we can't be here. If you really believed he was dead, you wouldn't have had this half-baked idea to come here in the first place. Something won't let you give up and it won't allow you to let go of your son. I-"  
  
Max drew a deep breath, the words that had come so slow and easy suddenly tangled on his tongue.  
  
"I think that that something is Kit. I think that he's still alive, and that he loves and misses you every bit as much as you do him, and that bond, or connection or whatever damned hokey thing you wanna call it is pulling the both of you closer together. It's too precious to just throw away, so it won't let you rest until you find what you're missin'. Don't give up Baloo. We're landin' soon anyway."  
  
Baloo was staring at the formerly abrasive youth like he'd never seen him before. In a way, he felt like he hadn't.  
  
"Oh, shut up." Max finally snapped, though nothing had been said.  
  
"Kid, er, if nothin' else, I sure glad ta have met ya on this little misadventure."  
  
"Stuff it, big guy."  
  
Baloo actually chuckled before focusing all of his attention back on the ground. Max's words, Eric's confession and the image of Kit gone forever were all warring inside of him. He didn't know what to let take control.  
  
So he just listened to his companion complain about how it had been before the war had ended, with Eric as the taskmaster that he was and Kit and all of the rest of his fly buddies fighting the good fight.  
  
It sounded like Eric, though neither of the two could ever really forgive him, had had compassion in him once. Though the older officer was far since removed from the pair's plans, he could never be too far away from their thoughts.  
  
He was a reminder. Of what, Baloo wasn't yet certain. Maybe of survivors, of those who had courage simply because they remained behind while those they loved moved on. Maybe it was because of what he had lost and could never get back that reminded Baloo of what he never wanted to become.  
  
It was so easy, though. The large pilot had thought that the racoon simply had a major personality flaw, or that he hadn't cared a whit about what happened to the boys under his leadership. But, really, he couldn't allow himself to care.  
  
Baloo didn't want to know how that felt. Better to feel the pain, to know every part of it for the rest of his life, rather than to shut down and let life pass him by.  
  
Eric would forever feel his own judgment, and then punishment. Baloo could never extract the kind of revenge that he somehow knew the veteran had placed on himself.  
  
Maybe it was because he had been too far away from those he loved or too immersed in the terror that was all around, but Baloo didn't like this new insightful version of himself. He was almost getting reasonable and domesticated in his old age.  
  
But it was the landscape beneath the Sea Duck that let Baloo know all he wanted to about hate, revenge and despair. Once beautiful, it was scarred and empty.  
  
There were few living beings around, although the occasional group of refugees could be spotted far, far below. The lined faces spoke of a lifetimes' worth of loss. They seemed ready to suffer, indeed, they almost expected it.  
  
Towns bombed out, crying children with no one to comfort them, people numbed and passive from the horrors they'd been subjected to.  
  
It was different here. The rebuilding after the shock of war, with the shame tinged with determination that came with facing a catastrophe of a world war didn't exist here. There was only the endless struggle.  
  
Baloo felt a nasty premonition in his heart. It wouldn't end. If he ever had to return here, it would be as though he'd never left.  
  
And that, more than anything he'd seen before, even the emaciated survivors he'd glimpsed, terrified him. If it never stopped, then those like him, Max, Rebecca, even Kit would forever be caught in the crossfire. And for anyone to have gone through the pain and worry that they all had was a terrible punishment indeed.  
  
The airfield, nearly deserted with sad skeletons of planes littering the runway, was in sight. Max seemed competent enough behind the Sea Duck's controls and Baloo, lost in the moment of truth that he had not asked for, became lost even more in his own memories.....~  
  
January 1936  
  
Thembrian border  
  
Through the snow and sleet that kept icing up the Sea Duck's windshield, Baloo peered out, looking at the this glacial world.  
  
He never liked Thembria, never really got used to it no matter how many times he came here.  
  
But now, he hated it more than ever. Every little thing was making him tense and panicky, the winds, the foul weather, the ice that could play havoc on a pilot's breaks as they tried to land on what looked like a safe runway.  
  
Baloo squeezed his eyes shut. There were a thousand and one ways for someone inexperienced to be seriously hurt or......the large bear gulped, not able to wrap his usually carefree mind around a thought of that magnitude. A thousand and one ways, when the sun was shining and the weather was perfect.  
  
Here, for a kid to get into a plane would be like signing a death warrant. Baloo was squeezing the controls, fighting to re-master his emotions.  
  
Kit's seat was empty, Gods Baloo hated it that way!! He hated it when he and the boy exchanged words and the knowledge that he may have driven Kit away wouldn't leave him in peace.  
  
If anything should ever happen to that kid. *No!!* Cowardly thought it may be, Baloo couldn't let himself think that way. He'd known Kit Cloudkicker for a matter of months only, and it still surprised him how much he cared for the boy.  
  
He thought back to a week earlier, had it only been a week? It seemed so much longer, with his constant moping at work and Louie's and Becky's looks of nervousness, of concern. They had been equally worried, the both of them, but had said nothing so as to ease his mind.  
  
As if anything could. Baloo knew, he _knew_ that he shouldn't have lost his temper, it always made him put his foot in his mouth. And sometimes it could be a substantial mouth, and a pretty damned large foot at that.  
  
It had been the sight of the Sea Duck careening out of control and smashing into those rocks that had done it. Surprisingly, his thoughts hadn't been on the plane's welfare at all. They had all centered on the boy inside of it. He no longer wondered about when that had changed, it had and permanently and that was all she wrote.  
  
He felt an emotion he wasn't used to feeling, and the suddenness of it, the power had made him angry. He had no understanding of it and the brief but horrifying images that it caused to play across his mind wasn't something he could shake off easily.  
  
It could have been worse. As it was the sight of Kit jumping out from the pilot's seat, safe and sound had made him so heady with relief that all he had wanted to do was hug the boy and shake him at the same time.  
  
The snow was worsening and Baloo knew he had to concentrate, though it was difficult. He wondered if his mind had really been on anything at all since Kit had left, except his navigator.  
  
He sighed heavily, the thoughts of Kit hurt, crushed beneath the equipment of some airplane he wasn't ready to fly making him nauseous. Any thought of the kid in danger, with him unable to urge the Sea Duck to go faster, no matter how fluent his cursing, was aging him.  
  
That damned accident. Why had he acted the way he had? Why hadn't he just told Kit how much the boy had scared him, hugged him and left it at that? He knew how much flying meant to Kit, it was one of the things that the two had in common. He also knew that the kid had his pride and Baloo was loath to insult it.  
  
He not only cared deeply for the boy, but respected him as well. He couldn't stand the thought of hurting him, especially on purpose.  
  
And now, who knew what was going to happen?  
  
"Hurry up, c'mon old gal, just a little faster. Our navigator is out there, please c'mon." Baloo coaxed his plane, and it may or may not have been his imagination but it seemed it picked up just a little more extra speed. How he wished for that hyperdrive now!  
  
No matter, Kit had been saved from that experience, thank God. And now, here was another one.  
  
~Only Thembrians would be crazy enough to let a kid like _you_ fly.~ ~Now _what_ were you doin'?!~ ~You coulda got hurt~  
  
What was this power that kid had over him? The one that made him, free- flyin', free-spirited and free-wheelin' Baloo like the shaken old Papa Bear he was now? How had he gotten here?  
  
*You can just turn around.* A sly voice spoke up in his head. *Just leave him behind. He doesn't need you and you don't need this aggravation. C'mon, this is your life after all. No ties, no worries, just the sky and your plane, nothing to hold you down. You can't _like_ feelin' this way about some kid you aren't even related to? You're past feelin' sorry for him, just let him go.*  
  
Baloo's eyes were squeezed shut. He wanted to, sometimes, just let the boy go. But he couldn't. He was cowardly and selfish that way and he really hated himself for it. He did need Kit, and he cared about him too much to ever let him go.  
  
Kit might not return the sentiment, but Baloo knew that he himself was a weak-willed old pilot who depended on the kid, though for what he really wasn't sure.  
  
He saw lights far in the distance and heaved a sigh of relief which quickly caught in his throat when he saw the planes on the runway. There didn't seem to be anyone in them yet, thank goodness, but Baloo knew he needed to land, apologize to Kit and get them both the hell out of here, pronto.  
  
His rogue thoughts continued on their haphazard path tonight, plaguing Baloo with different memories.  
  
He thought back to a few months before. After Mr. Alias Dan Dawson had been arrested. After he had come so close to hurting his boy.  
  
Baloo shook his head, _his_ boy? At the time, the large bear was so overcome with rage, near hatred, that he hadn't even guessed at his emotions.  
  
All he saw was Kit, falling without support from that airplane towards those rings of fire. It was a nightmare that would stay with him for the rest of his life, but he could live with that. He had arrived just in time.  
  
There was, however, the fact that just when he thought he couldn't despise that blowhard more for what he had done to his navigator, Kit had told him what had happened in the moments before Baloo had gotten there.  
  
Kit had said, his young face twisting with uncertainty at Baloo's clouded expression, that Dan had stood over him with a long knife, cutting his restraints. The image that assaulted Baloo had been so vivid it nearly made him sick. That maniac, standing over _his_ boy with something like that.  
  
He could just hear the fear in Kit's voice, the way it sometimes broke under pressure. God it was horrible. If his mind could produce such disturbing images, Baloo didn't know what it would have been like to actually see it. After Kit had told him, Baloo had gone into such a black rage that even the boy had been wary of him.  
  
So he had went to pay ol' Dawson a visit in jail. Before he went, he had indulged himself by watching Kit in the bed beside his, sleeping. It was a very sweet gift that he had simply taken for granted before, that the child was here and safe.  
  
He couldn't resist hugging Kit very tightly before leaving, to remind himself of....things. Kit had returned the embrace and the two had stayed that way for a time, leaning on each other.  
  
Baloo really had to restrain himself when he entered Dan's cell. He wanted to pound that miserable low-life's smug face in, but he knew that it wouldn't do any good. The only thing that eased his mind was the fact that Kit was safe and back home, where he belonged.  
  
Dan looked up at the large pilot uneasily. The fury and pure disgust wasn't even concealed on the bear's expression.  
  
"I outta pound you." Baloo growled and Dan whimpered, looking out of his cell to where some guards, or perhaps an axe-murderer, might be preferable to this gentleman.  
  
"You threatened my kid."  
  
"_Your_ kid?" Dan spoke up, confused. "He said he was an orphan."  
  
"An' that gives you the right to do what you did?!!" Baloo shouted, his eyes flashing. "He coulda been killed, and if even one finger had been damaged I woulda come huntin' for you. If you ever show yer miserable face to him again, I guarantee you won't be doin' any shows, or anythin' else for a long, _long_ time."  
  
He turned and left, feeling somewhat appeased, but not completely. The playboy's words irked him. Kit wasn't his kid, not legally. Only in spirit, and emotionally did he know that the boy belonged to him.  
  
A warmth spread through the large bear's chest at that thought. It didn't come from possessiveness, or his own comfort and well-being, it came from the thought that Kit would be there waiting for him at home when he arrived. The boy would be there, in the Sea Duck's seat beside him, for many more adventures.  
  
He would be there for Baloo to wonder and be amazed at. The older pilot had never known a kid like Kit, he was truly one of a kind. The gray bear knew he would protect Kit, legally his or not, with his life from that moment on. The protectiveness and gentleness the boy inspired was something utterly unfamiliar to him, and not at all unpleasant.  
  
But here he was, he had let Kit slip through his fingers once again. Through his own faults, his oafish blindness. He would never learn.  
  
Baloo landed the Sea Duck in record speed and jumped out, yelling Kit's name. His words caught in his throat when he saw the boy in a far plane, and it was taking off.  
  
He nearly panicked. The rest was quite likely a haze. Everything only snapped back to clear view when he saw Kit's predicament. There was nothing he could do to help Kit or himself when they were in separate aircraft.  
  
Baloo gulped. He would have to trust Kit, and by the stars sometimes it was difficult!!  
  
"Pick up the _mike_ Little Britches." Baloo said urgently, knowing that Kit needed to calm down. He hoped his voice would let the navigator think more clearly, his life depended on it.  
  
"Now, just do what I tell you Kit, it's gonna be all right." *No it's not!!* Screamed his inner voice but the pilot purposefully ignored it. "Ease that wheel back."  
  
Kit tried valiantly but his voice came back, shrill with fear. "I can't do it Baloo!!"  
  
*No, he has to. He just _has_ to!!* "Ease that wheel back!!" Baloo barked, harsher than he intended. He saw his navigator struggling against it without avail.  
  
*He's too young, he's not strong enough. I knew it, _Damn_ I knew it!* "Pull back hard Kit, _Hard_!" Baloo was begging the kid, for them both.  
  
*C'mon kid, you have to!! I believe in you.* And suddenly, the wheel was pushed back and Kit was soaring up, past the rock cliffs that would have spelled certain doom, to safety.  
  
Baloo felt weak with relief and couldn't contain himself. "You did it!!" he whooped.  
  
"No I didn't, _you_ did." Kit's voice was heavy with shame and Baloo felt a twinge of sympathy.  
  
"Aw, don't say that Little Britches. You're gonna be a great pilot." The words came tumbling out and Baloo was surprised that he meant them. *But not for several years, thank you age limits.*  
  
"Yeah, you really think so?" Kit's voice, so innocent and trusting, made younger by the sound of him obviously wanting Baloo to believe in him. Baloo shut his eyes. How could the boy not know how proud he was of him? How much he meant to him each day?  
  
"Sure" Baloo gulped out, his voice steady. "Now, just land that thing so's I can fly you home."  
  
*Home, now there's a thought I can live with*  
  
"Roger, Papa Bear!" Kit still sounded like a child, a happy one playing a game that had nearly gotten him killed. Baloo grit his teeth and willed himself to be patient.  
  
That old familiar anger was coming over him, as it always did when his fear had receded.  
  
The plane wobbled dangerously when Kit landed it in a snow bank. The landing lesson was cut rather short by Baloo's overwhelming desire to get out of this winter wonderland.  
  
Baloo had already landed the Sea Duck and hauled Kit away from that devil craft as forcibly as he dared.  
  
Kit was looking up at him uncertainly and Baloo forced himself to ignore his expression.  
  
He helped his navigator into his seat and then took off without ceremony, leaving the Thembrians to clean up their own mess.  
  
*Great Patriotic Flounder. Whole country's mad as a hatter.*  
  
As was becoming usual for the two, the conversation didn't begin until the Sea Duck was high in the air and a sense of security had returned to its cabin.  
  
"Kit, I know that I shouldn't have to say anythin' to ya. But dammit, I'm _going_ to!!" Baloo yelled, his voice gaining volume as he lost his temper. "You could have been smashed to bits, you coulda been killed in so many ways! What were you _thinkin'_? Huh?! You scared twenty years offa me. I can't do this Kit! When will you ever think before you act? Don't you know how I felt when I got that postcard? Do you have any idea?!!"  
  
Baloo was finally calming down and Kit was watching him in confusion.  
  
"I-I, I'm sorry" Kit finally spoke up softly. "I just wanted you to be proud of me." The boy was twisting his fingers in his lap. His shame was making his face scarlet.  
  
Baloo felt himself weaken. "How? By dyin'? Kit, you, oh just c'mere." The pilot's voice had become raspy and he held Kit as the boy clung to him. He rubbed his back and felt that strange, sudden emotion that came over him when he realized how it could have been. What it would have been like to return back to Higher for Hire, without Kit.  
  
"Baloo!!" Kit gasped, "I need my ribs, I think!"  
  
Baloo was crushing him without meaning to. "Sorry kiddo." But he didn't let the boy go, not yet.  
  
*Not ever.* Came that voice again that Baloo knew so well. It was his own. *I can't ever let him go, pete's sake I wish I knew what's goin' to happen to me when he gets older.*  
  
Finally, he set the boy back down on the floor, kissing his head and tossing that Thembrian cap aside.  
  
"I worried you?" Kit asked, his young face so at odds with those old, uncomprehending eyes.  
  
"Um, worried might not be the right word for it, Kit." Baloo said honestly. *More like terrified, sickened, the like*  
  
"Don't do anythin' like that again, huh? Don't make me beg." Kit was staring at Baloo, truly at a loss.  
  
"I, I er, didn't know. I thought, you would like a break, while I was doin'-" Kit cut himself off, ashamed at his own words.  
  
Baloo's expression, his reaction so clearly showed how stupid that was that Kit didn't know how to respond. "I promise" he said quietly. That seemed good enough.  
  
He didn't understand the large pilot sometimes. He supposed that Baloo felt the same way, often.  
  
"Truth is, Baloo. I'm beat."  
  
Baloo smiled at him tenderly. "Worked ya over, did they?"  
  
Kit shrugged in that funny way of his. "Sorta. But I definitely don't want to ever see another turnip again as long as I live." He grimaced sincerely and Baloo's laughter was mixed with his own for quite some time.~  
  
************************************************************************  
  
March, 1919  
  
Ypres Salient, re-visited  
  
Eric calmly and carefully took the stack of books that his mother had sent him early on in the war out of his trunk. He had kept them here, safe behind the firing lines, and then forgotten about it.  
  
If it wasn't food, it didn't help keep him dry and warm or even shrapnel- proof then he didn't want it. It was just added weight.  
  
The books looked at him accusingly, their fine leather covers now cracked and dusty from the years of being covered and abandoned.  
  
The gold leaf that encompassed the pages and the titles gleamed like something reborn. Eric stacked each of them very carefully and marched outside with them. He didn't want to read them, they were just what they had been when they had been sent to him, dead weight.  
  
They had no value to him anymore.  
  
His tent was close to the trenches, when a year ago it would have been impossible to be where he was and not be picked off by a sniper.  
  
The place was still a hell-hole however. It didn't take the war for that. The parapets were still bloody and bullet-riddled. There were still long slippery boards everywhere, trying to keep the soldiers out of the suffocating mud.  
  
It still rained sheets. Men still looked up from their huddles, the dampness dripping off of their lined faces, and Eric could still see the despair there.  
  
No more wounded to drown in the lakes of mud, no more horses to hobble around on broken legs. No more fighting, but still it went on.  
  
A cold wind blew through Eric's thin frame, blowing his unzipped bomber around him like a cape. He paid it no mind.  
  
Several soldiers looked inquiringly at him as he trudged past but he didn't look up. A short burst of laughter could be heard far away, as well as distant strains of "Tipperary" and "We're Here..." The two songs were still as popular as they had been when soldiers were dying here like flies.  
  
It didn't make sense. Eric, now a lieutenant, wanted to forget the last days of the war. He wanted to forget that frightened lad who would never see sunlight again, crying that he wanted to go home.  
  
He couldn't allow himself to let go of the pictures that assaulted him. Of men, silent and pained, wanting nothing more than to join that lad and go home too. Tragic, all of them. The ones without limbs, without nerves and their health, without the ability to sleep. The ones who would spend the rest of their life at Sidcup, hiding away like living gargoyles.  
  
Even the ones who were whole, and pink-cheeked and hearty.  
  
"Can't go 'ome." One grizzled bear had growled, a digger who had been recruited in 1917. "Can't, me boy's gone of flu, wife's joined 'im. No 'ome to go to, nothin'." Then he hobbled off, had a cigarette and cried bitterly.  
  
Eric remembered them all, all of their faces. He couldn't forget.  
  
He took the books, with their bright pages and titles such as, "Fight the Hun! Our Crusade for Civilization!" and "War to End Wars. What Do You Think Is Worth Fighting For?"  
  
Surprisingly, Eric felt a stab of strong, sickening emotion. It twisted inside, tormenting him.  
  
He took the books, one by one, and ripped each and every page out slowly, meticulously and never glancing at any of them.  
  
With two down, working on a third, a young soldier under him finally approached Eric, his young face showing his trepidation.  
  
"Sir? Um, sir, are you all right?"  
  
No answer. Just the slow, satisfying sound of ripping pages and then a *splat* as they landed in the mud.  
  
"Can I ask what you're doing, sir?" The soldier asked quietly.  
  
"Censoring." Eric said, his mouth quirking in a sardonic smile.  
  
"Um, pardon me for the cheek sir but, uh, isn't censoring um, well, the complete opposite of what you're doing?"  
  
Eric turned to look at the soldier, whose expression held no trace of humour or sarcasm. "What do you think?" Eric finally asked, his eyes betraying him. "What do you think of what I'm doing? Did I ask you?! Did I?!! This is the only kind o' censorin' that should be allowed."  
  
"They're all *rip* bloody *rip* *rip* _murderers_. Killed 'em all, *rip*, _disgustin'_ eyewash! *rip* *rip* rot, pack of lies, _hate_ them *rip* *rip* *rip* God I _Hate_ them!!!"  
  
Eric threw the rest of the books down in the mud and pushed the younger soldier away as hard as he could, not caring that when he started to walk away the soldier tried to salvage what was left of the mess.  
  
It couldn't be salvaged.  
  
"'Ey Eric. You need to go home, blighty's callin'. It's high time, head up north to Craiglockheart, do what's needed."  
  
"Burn In Hell" Eric snapped viciously at the older Colonel, who later came to visit him in his tent, some other soldiers waiting outside in concern.  
  
"I, could send you up on a mission, but...."  
  
"Is the war over?" Eric asked, ignoring the older officer and facing the opposite side of his bedraggled tent.  
  
The Colonel sighed, looking very old and tired. "You know it is, lad. You know it, I think we all do."  
  
Silence from Eric.  
  
"They're talkin' peace. I'm sendin' you to Louvais. Nice reprieve, not like Anglia, closer to the war there. See for yourself, would ya like that lad?"  
  
Eric stared at the old sheepdog, his kindly expression ripping the young pilot's guts out.  
  
"How do you have anything left sir?"  
  
The Colonel clapped an unsteady hand on Eric's thin shoulder.  
  
"Always more to give lad. Have to protect these ones, someone must remember. Remember it right, that is. Dying and forgetting how to live does no one any good. You go to Louvais, Eric. Try and rest, find a place that suits you. And try not to think about it too much, the hate will control you my boy. It will take everything from you, and you think it's a gift, you think you can control it, then you discover it was all a lie. It controls you, it ruins you. Take it from an old Contemptible like me, and let it go."  
  
The Colonel, resting heavily on his cane, hobbled out. Eric watched him go, and wanted to be like him. But he wasn't. And he couldn't.  
  
All it took was his trip to Louvais to seal that. He knew that it wasn't over yet.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Magyaran Border  
  
May 1945  
  
Kit didn't know how long he had been walking. His meager supplies had already begun to deplete and his feet were beyond sore and had moved to cracked and bleeding.  
  
It was quiet and dark here. Villages he passed were deserted, with the bright, hate-filled slogans on walls and shattered windows an ugly, terrible reminder as to why.  
  
The trees were still holy though. In the dark, later, when dawn's golden light brushed them and helped them reach toward the heavens.  
  
The trees swayed and laughed, heedless of the torment around them. There wasn't apathy in the forest, there was peace.  
  
So Kit walked. He had fought, suffered, felt all the emotions that could and should have crushed him. But here, in his solitude, there was a beauty he had never encountered.  
  
Someday people would know the things he did. Not all but enough. He thought of the voices he could hear in the whispering groves. So many, so many gone.  
  
The lack of inhabitants had ceased to be unsettling with the passing of a dark, humid night. When daylight came, it lit up Kit's aged face and warmed his bones to let him continue his long journey.  
  
He was walking to the east, then to the south. He was following a song inside of him that had existed since he was very young. Past the bonds of earth, away from the cold freedom of the skies. He walked on.  
  
The day passed and Kit walked. He rested only minutes then stirred to wakefulness again. He had to get somewhere, he needed to say something, to see someone. There was something important that he had to share.  
  
Kit Cloudkicker became someone else in this leg of his harsh quest. He looked inside of himself, at the man he had become, past the shame, loneliness and struggle of his past.  
  
He was a part of something larger, older than the trees around him and the land that grew them. He had lived to become something better, stronger. And he wouldn't forget.  
  
Dusk came. A meadow clearing that stretched to the horizon brought Kit out of himself. He sat at the edge of it, wondering at what he was seeing.  
  
At the other edge, there was something that was lit up and moving toward him. Lanterns that wove purple and red across the swaying grasses. What he saw was astounding. It was a small, haggard-looking group of black bears wearing garishly bright clothing.  
  
Their clothes were patched and worn and the group consisted, of what Kit could see, of mainly young adults. A sudden chill hit Kit as he realized why.  
  
As he watched, the came to a stop at the opposite end of the meadow and began pulling various carts, vehicles and even wagons into a lopsided circle. Almost instantaneously a fire was lit up in the center and laughter mixed with a throaty, garbled language that was completely unfamiliar to Kit could be heard.  
  
He took a feeble step toward the camp, feeling his first pangs of real loneliness since leaving the Alemanian city and his long-lost Thembrian friends. As he walked closer, however, he froze when he heard a rough voice shout something out and several female screams.  
  
The camp went silent and the bears filtered through their encampment to form a line facing Kit down.  
  
Kit hadn't been afraid for a long time, the real enemy was far away and brought down, but he did feel a small touch of fear at the hostility in these strangers' faces.  
  
Someone pointed at him and gestured angrily, only to be held back by a middle-aged bear with long hair tied back.  
  
The bear had gray striped in that long hair, mixed in his fur. He looked old and weary, but still ready to fight.  
  
Kit knew he was the leader of the small band. He took a step back as the large bear walked toward him.  
  
He just now noticed, when the huge bear got closer, that several of the young men had guns pointed toward him and they looked like they were itching to use them.  
  
"Soldier" The bear, who was enormous, spat out the word and Kit looked down at his worn attire worriedly.  
  
"Us-Usl-land-d" he sputtered, feeling like a fool. The other bear raised a dark eyebrow and looked the youth up and down.  
  
Kit wondered what he was thinking until he saw a softening of those hard features. There was a wistfulness there. He wondered briefly what had caused it.  
  
"Boy, eh?" The other bear actually smiled, revealing several golden teeth. The others behind him relaxed their guard and Kit marveled at the way the group seemed to read each other's minds.  
  
He nodded and cringed as the bear slapped him hard enough to bring him down. The roars of laughter did nothing to help his bruised ego and he brushed himself off and took the large bear's hand.  
  
He hadn't known many adults as large or as strong as Baloo but this bear topped his dad on all counts.  
  
"We are Roma" Again the golden smile and Kit found he liked the huge bear. The others were disappearing into their circle again.  
  
"Hungry? Are you prisoner?" The rolling of the language was throwing Kit off and his tired mind looked blankly at the other bear.  
  
With a deep boom of laughter the Roma motioned for Kit to follow him. As Kit tried to keep up, he could once again hear music and voices coming from around the fire.  
  
"You didn't answer question." The large bear handed Kit a chunk of stale bread which Kit just held.  
  
Finally the young pilot shook his head. "Refugee, of sorts." The older bear looked thoughtful at this and looked meaningfully at the bread still in Kit's hands.  
  
"Not good enough for Uslander tastes? It is all we have at moment, less mouths to feed, less bread" The bear spat on the ground, pain twisting his features. He cursed softly and Kit wondering again just who this group really was.  
  
"Where did you come from?" The erstwhile navigator asked, his mouth full of the surprisingly tasty bread.  
  
The older bear shrugged. "Some from east, others west. We met in a place and journey together. We are all family now, there is no one else."  
  
Kit looked around. "You're a family?" He asked quietly.  
  
"Of sorts. Those who are alone are welcome here, but only when they know who is welcome to stay, and to leave in due time." Another meaningful look Kit's way and he nodded shortly.  
  
"We are going to meet another group, more survivors, though what could survive this plague? Bah! Marcela, too much hate here. We gather our own and then we leave. It is hell there too, but still we go. The Roma people here are orphans, like many others. Like you, vanda? Why are you here, alone?"  
  
Kit sighed. "It's so long a story I don't think even you want to know. And.." Kit paused, feeling a strange emotion before continuing, "and I'm not an orphan, I have a family waiting for me."  
  
Baloo and Becky aren't my folks. I'm an orphan. Kit shook his head to clear it.  
  
"Waiting where? Home? Why are you not with them? A son should be with his father, his mother."  
  
Kit wanted to say something but waited. He felt so tired all of a sudden.  
  
"My name is Augu, though it is not what my mother gave me. I gave it to myself when I was reborn, after my own baptism of fire. The camps, they take your past and you are forced to build your own future. Is life."  
  
"You can stay here tonight, but only if you are lia to me. Tell me something that will make my old bones glad that I am here when my beautiful wife is not. Bringer of news, tell me something I wish to hear."  
  
Kit was mystified by the strange older man. Yet, he liked him. There was something strong, just in the huge fellow. Kit could feel it.  
  
"The war is over, you knew that."  
  
"Da, we are alive for it. Nothing else young one?"  
  
"I'm going to meet my father. He's been searching for me." The words came out and Kit didn't even realize he had said them until it was too late. Augu stared at him then looked down suddenly.  
  
Kit was stunned to see tears in the bear's eyes. "You just now know this boy?"  
  
Kit paused, then shook his head. "I've always known it. He made a promise to me that he would come, but I'd..I'd forgotten."  
  
Silence. There was nothing more to be said.  
  
For a time.  
  
"How old was he?" Kit asked quietly  
  
"Too young, that is all that matters."  
  
"What does Augu mean?"  
  
"It means that I am worthy of respect, do you not agree?" Augu smiled his golden grin at Kit, who grinned back for the first time. "It also means victorious. Yet I did not want such a name for myself. I am not a victor, I have no spoils. I merely survive. But there is no shame in that"  
  
"My name is Kit"  
  
Augu looked confused at the unfamiliar word. "K-itck?" He asked slowly and Kit just shook his head. By tomorrow morning, it wouldn't matter.  
  
As the night wore on, Kit chose to sleep away from the cozy circle. He was an outsider, regardless of Augu's kind hospitality. It just reminded him of what he had to return to.  
  
Before he tried to retire, however, he bumped into a younger bear who made him distinctly uncomfortable without him really knowing why.  
  
She, like the rest of the group, had long black hair and lots of jingly jewelry. She wasn't beautiful, or even pretty to Kit's eyes, but she had something striking about her that made him want to look at her again, and again, and again..  
  
He shook his head to clear it. The girl was leveling him with a hard-eyed stare and she looked none too friendly toward him. He averted his eyes, feeling uncomfortable.  
  
When he finally got the nerve to look up again she was still staring him down. She then stuck her tongue out and turned on her heel.  
  
Kit stared after her for awhile then shrugged, making his way to the edge of the small camp.  
  
"Her name is Anca. That is all she will call herself." Augu's low growl startled Kit and he stopped walking.  
  
The larger bear was staring after the girl. "She doesn't not speak much with anyone. She doesn't trust. None of us do," Augu shrugged apologetically, not really paying attention to Kit, "but she is worse. The soldiers, you see. The believe that it is unworthy, beneath their perversion to touch us, to touch others."  
  
Kit felt his stomach drop. He knew, but didn't want to hear what was coming.  
  
"Sometimes, not everyone believes. It is a way to break us. She took one of his eyes, he took something else. It is not justice. No one will ever marry her now. Too young to hate so much, da? What name she had before is gone, now she is Anca. It means Unknown."  
  
Kit's mouth was dry. He understood, and yet he didn't. How could a group of people who had been through so much still persecute their own?  
  
Augu was watching him, the dark, grizzled bear had a comprehending light in his opaque eyes. "It is our way. Always. Though it is not her fault, it is not anyone's fault that we were born into this hell. Not yours, not mine, not those that you must leave behind. It is the only way to leave such hate behind."  
  
Silence, thick and potent.  
  
"Maybe there is no way to leave it behind."  
  
Kit tried to snuggle down in the strange-smelling blanket that Augu had given him. He tried to think of the upcoming journey to the torn-apart mountainous regions to the south. He tried to picture Molly's, Rebecca's, Baloo's faces. But all he could see was someone else.  
  
He wondered if it would ever end. He wasn't alone.  
  
A few hours later, the cold night was all that Kit was aware of. The fire inside the camp was dying down, yet there were still voices and raucous laughter. A chill wind picked up and Kit tried to bury himself deeper in the warm grasses. The dew that was collecting on it made it difficult.  
  
Not for the first time Kit wondered if he had made the right decision. Now that the shock, despair and pain had worn off, he felt foolish...and guilty. He should have waited, he should have thought of those who would have been hurt by his actions. He had been foolish and impetuous.  
  
Why hadn't he waited? Anywhere would have been fine. Because, somewhere inside of him, there was a terrible truth.  
  
He loved Baloo with all of his heart, but he didn't quite trust him. The older pilot had let him down too many times, in too many ways. The seedling of doubt that accompanied this dreary thought made Kit squeeze his eyes shut.  
  
What on this green, green earth did he think he was doing? How did he know, without a doubt that Baloo was coming for him? How could he know something like that?  
  
More likely, the bear would be too late, for whatever flimsy reason he could find. Kit was suddenly angry. It wasn't fair and it was completely unreasonable but he didn't care.  
  
He wanted to blame the older bear. The mixed emotions inside Kit needed release and he gave vent to his anger by pounding the earth viciously.  
  
If things had been different. If Baloo was more responsible, a better example. If Kit himself could afford to make mistakes and not care about the damage they did.  
  
If his parents had lived.  
  
But it was too late. Always too late. Kit drifted off to sleep once again.~  
  
~Kit was so excited he could contain himself. Finally, after years of patient, (or not so patient, sometimes) waiting, it was finally time.  
  
He had papers in hand, appointment time set. He had turned the right age, only a few days earlier and had barely been able to sleep in those hours since that time and now.  
  
Of course, Baloo and Rebecca had remained infuriatingly calm, as was their habit sometimes, in the face of his frantic energy. That was adults for you. He couldn't help but feel a little annoyed.  
  
Baloo was supposed to have given him a ride today. He promised that he would accompany his navigator on this very important day.  
  
But Kit had waited for quite a long time, considering what it was he was waiting for, and Baloo hadn't shown. Kit had gotten used to this over the years, Baloo's irresponsibility was as ingrained in him as his vastly superior flying skills. It didn't help his irritation however. So now he was walking. He needed the exercise anyway, but he could have used the company.  
  
Kit shook his head fondly, his shaggy hair long overdue for a haircut. As he crossed the street, in the morning traffic of Cape Suzette, he noticed a gaggle of girls near the corner, giggling at him and waving.  
  
He blushed and ducked his head underneath his old, trusty baseball cap, fingering it reassuringly.  
  
He was just walking, enjoying the morning sunshine for a bit, trying to quell the nerves in his stomach when he heard a light tapping coming from inside one of the shop windows.  
  
Looking around in confusion, he finally spotted the culprit. His long-time friend and Jungle Ace of old, Ernie, was standing inside one of the buildings waving at Kit and pulling faces.  
  
Kit laughed and waved back, looking around for the entrance to the building and finding it under the sign, Cape Suzette Third National Bank; The Third One's the Charm!  
  
"Ernie!" He yelled as he walked in, earning himself some dirty looks from several customers and the frazzled clerks.  
  
Ernie, though, only smiled broadly himself and went to clap Kit on the shoulder.  
  
"Man, I haven't seen you all summer. Finally got back from whatever expensive vacation you're folks dragged you on?" Kit noted how much taller the young hyena had gotten. His face looked leaner, and he had lost that sour, spiteful expression that he had so often carried in the past.  
  
Instead, he looked quite relaxed and pleased with the world.  
  
"Wasn't so bad." Ernie said, not able to hide his widening grin. "What're you up to? Or do I even have to ask?"  
  
It was common knowledge among Kit's buddies, and his lesser known acquaintances, well....perfect strangers sometimes got the gist too when it came down to it, that Kit had been waiting to get his pilot's license since he knew what an airplane was.  
  
Kit grinned broadly himself, hardly able to keep his dignity and stop himself from jumping up and down like a child in glee.  
  
"You know me too well, pal. So, what's up with you? You look, different, Ernie." Kit spoke candidly, as was his habit, but his old friend didn't seem to mind.  
  
"Somethin' happened to me over the summer Kit." Ernie leaned in conspiratorially. "Something _nice_."  
  
Kit looked at his friend, his eyebrows raised. "Specifically?"  
  
"I met someone." Ernie was now beaming. Kit had never seen that kind of expression on the hyena's face before. He looked, er, twiterpated!  
  
"A, _girl_?" Kit asked, tentatively.  
  
"No, Owl Capone. _Yes_ a girl, you half-wit." Ernie wiggled his eyebrows at the young bear.  
  
Kit was honestly surprised. Out of all of his friends, he wouldn't have expected Ernie to come around so quickly. Of course, he himself had often felt twinges, and he had memories, but he felt a little turned around at this news.  
  
"So, where does she live?"  
  
"Anglia" Ernie said. "Her parents were takin' her to the same place I got nabbed to. She's a looker, Kit. _Nice_ gams, if you know what I mean." Ernie elbowed the other teenager and Kit flushed nervously.  
  
"Really? She's Anglian? Isn't that hard?"  
  
Ernie shrugged, but his face looked a little cloudy. "Um, yeah. But she's over the moon for me, Kit. Can't blame her, ya know."  
  
Kit rolled his eyes and Ernie laughed to show he was joking.  
  
"But, I tell ya. That girl, she was somethin' else. An', um, she's not goin' back to Anglia for awhile. Her parents wanted to leave earlier, but they couldn't get out. Because of the bombing."  
  
Both teenagers fell silent. The war, so far away for so long, had come home to them in many different ways. It was getting closer, Kit could see it in people's expression. He could sense the tension, the anxiety that was becoming ingrained in life.  
  
It was a different world. He felt a stab of pity for his friend. "At least she'll be safe." Kit said softly.  
  
"Yeah, she's a tough broad. Really, Kit, I've never known anyone like her. She's seen things, but she's still, nice, not like other girls. She keeps me in stitches, and can run circles around me in the smarts-department. I, um, I think I love her."  
  
Kit was stunned. Ernie wasn't looking at him, only scuffing his foot against the gleaming bank floor. Then, Kit felt his face crack into a smile.  
  
"Good for you Ernie. Really."  
  
The two boys looked at each other, and Ernie nodded at Kit appreciatively. Then they shook hands roughly, too much in the adolescent, self-conscious stage to do more.  
  
"Well, um, I've gotta make some deposits for my dad. And, er, I'm gonna wire her some money. Just to make sure she's gonna be okay."  
  
"Sure Ernie. I've gotta get going too." Kit felt somehow, lighter, than what he had moments before. His own joy seemed amplified, and his worries about war and the shadows it was casting seemed farther away.  
  
"All right yose rubes. No body move er I'll plug ya. In fact, I just might do it fer fun."  
  
Kit froze at the voice. So did everyone else in the bank. Standing there was a miniscule crocodile, flanked by two enormous shadows.  
  
Kit gulped and frantically motioned to Ernie, who nodded and stayed perfectly still.  
  
*Trader Moe! I haven't even heard anything about him for years. What on God's green earth is he doing here, _now_ of all times?!!*  
  
Kit felt sweat prickle on the back of his neck and several drops slid down. He flinched and forcibly stopped himself from drawing attention to himself by not swiping them away.  
  
"Now, I's heard that a big shipment o' goodies is comin' trough 'ere. So's let's all be pals and hand it over, nice and quiet like, else things may get a bit messy."  
  
"Sure boss, messy" Came a grunt from behind him.  
  
"Yeah, lots of friends" Came the other voice, just like clockwork.  
  
Trader Moe slapped his forehead and waved his hat, still taller than he was, at the two.  
  
"Will you shaddup?!!"  
  
The two goons, properly chastised, began hulking around, the tile cracking underneath their gargantuan weight.  
  
"Okay sweet cheeks, in da bag. An' make it snappy, we's got an _engagement_ to keep."  
  
"Heh, sure, we've gotta keep da engagement"  
  
"Yeah, gettin' married."  
  
Kit couldn't help himself, he rolled his eyes. Those two seemed to get even stupider as they got older. Maybe they would actually hit a reversal one of these years and start to get smarter after hitting rock bottom. They should be getting close.  
  
A loud, piercing, ringing interrupted Kit's thoughts and all of the customers looked up panicked. Trader Moe began screaming furiously.  
  
"Who tripped dat? Who set off da alarm?! I'll pulverize 'em. I'll murder 'em. Who did it!!"  
  
But a loud booming voice from the back of the building cut off his tirade. "This building is surrounded. The funds procured here were for use of the Cape Suzette militia, to be sent to the State Department of our Usland capital. You have been under close observation, Moe, give it up for good an' we might give you an' your goons a separate cell."  
  
"Youse idiots!!" Trader Moe began swatting his goons again. "You morons!! It was a set-up, we're washed up, finished. But I ain' goin' down without a fight."  
  
His evil little eyes scanned the bank and Kit gulped when he saw who they rested on.  
  
"You, kid, you're comin' wit' us. Take him, boys."  
  
"No!!" Kit yelled out before he could stop himself. One of the goons had a hold of Ernie's arm and was twisting it painfully. Ernie, his face gray, shook his head at Kit who purposely ignored him.  
  
"I repeat, give it up Moe. It's over, there's nowhere to run. You've been found out by the Usland Army and we're in a state of war. If you give up now, we might go easy on you."  
  
Trader Moe snarled viciously. "Nothin' doin'!!" he howled. His eyes then fell directly on Kit.  
  
They gleamed in recognition and Kit made to bolt, running right into the sold bulk of the huge gorilla. He fell to the floor painfully.  
  
Trader Moe was standing over him, grinning. "I knows you, don't I kid? Yeah, I've seen youse before. Moe never fergets a face."  
  
"Sure boss, you never forget nothin'"  
  
"Yeah, remember all da time"  
  
"Shaddup" Trader Moe growled. "You're, _you're_ the pickle boy, ain't ya?"  
  
Kit tried to shrug and motion that he didn't know what the crocodile was talking about. He didn't meet Ernie's eyes.  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Trader Moe hauled Kit up by his blue sweater. "I remember. That, an' everythin' else. Well wadda ya know, its the little snot-nosed brat here to give me a hand. Payback time, _kid_. Ain' t no one gonna mistake us now, huh?"  
  
"You're crazy. You're surrounded and what makes you think that they're gonna let you go, hostage or not?" Kit could have bit his own tongue. He never seemed to able to hold back in these kind of situations, his hackles always raising at any kind of bullying.  
  
Trader Moe's face turned an ugly puce color. In his eyes, there was a glint of something, rather unstable. Kit recognized it and backed away. This wasn't the hot-tempered, easily fooled little twerp he was in years past, something about a constant life on the run had pushed the gangster over the edge.  
  
"They'll let me go, 'cause I's already shot one hostage and they don't wanna see me shoot another one."  
  
Kit was confused for a fraction of a second before it happened. Trader Moe pulled out a small handgun (very small) and aimed it at Ernie. He fired twice.  
  
Kit screamed at the top of his lungs and lunged at the smaller crocodile.  
  
"Get 'im boys. Let's get outta here."  
  
Kit was fighting the two massive figures, trying to get to his friend who was laying on the floor, surrounded by other people in the bank. He could see the blood from where he was and it made him sick.  
  
"You _bastards_!" He hissed, before he felt a solid fist clip his head and he slumped into unconsciousness.  
  
When Kit awoke, the first thing he became aware of was the *drip* *drip* *drip* of something. It was like a hammer into his brain.  
  
He moaned and tried to move, only to find that he couldn't very easily. He was restrained against a chair, in the middle of some huge warehouse.  
  
"Well, well, if it ain't pickle boy. Have pleasant dreams, pickle boy?"  
  
Kit blinked at the voice, before it all came back to him. The bank, Ernie.....  
  
He struggled against the robes holding him to the chair. "You were always a cowardly piece of scum, Moe, but now you've really crossed a line. And what's _with_ this place? Did you pick it out of Gangster Pads of the Week? Or, how to design a hideout that is completely cliche'? And that pickle remark? Do you _ever_ let things go? Like your excess baggage over there?"  
  
Kit motioned with his sore head to the two lurking shadows. Trader Moe stepped into the harsh light that was surrounding the teenager, an ugly look on his uglier mug.  
  
"Youse gotta big mouth kid. A very big mouth. Let's see if we can shut ya up."  
  
"Sure boss, he says too much."  
  
"Yeah, lots of talking."  
  
Trader Moe shook his head. "I've gotta get me some new goons" he said, before returning his attention to the boy.  
  
"Nah, da boss is holdin' on ta us." One goon spoke up proudly.  
  
"Yeah, hold tight."  
  
"Will you both just shaddup!!" Moe bellowed.  
  
He glared at Kit, who scowled back. Neither broke the silence until the constant dripping water seemed to be too much for the gangster to take.  
  
"We may not have gotten anythin' from da bank. But today ain't a total loss, I get ta make sure that one rotten kid will never get in my way _again_."  
  
Kit was too angry to be intimidated. "There isn't any ransom, you're barking up the wrong tree. I'd say you're pretty washed up, so come clean. See, I can be funny too."  
  
The two goons were laughing hysterically, until Trader Moe kicked them both in the shins.  
  
"It ain't _funny_ youse ijits!!"  
  
"No boss, not funny"  
  
"Yeah, opposite"  
  
"I don't want ransom kid." Trader Moe sneered, after grinding his teeth at his goons. "I want revenge. Not quite as sweet as some dough, but what's nice is youse is gonna suffer for all dose years that I had ta walk away empty-handed. And suffer _a lot_."  
  
Kit still wasn't afraid, though he knew he was in a nasty predicament. "You were always a loser, Moe. It wasn't me, it was your own stupidity that did you in all of those times."  
  
"Shaddup!" Trader Moe yelled. He glared maliciously at the teenager. "Y'know, youse got guts kid. I like that. You woulda been a good asset here. But whelps like you, always so worried about whats right or wrong, waste of energy. That's okay, though, lets see whatcha got ta show for it, ya goody-goody little ankle-biter."  
  
Kit saw him pull out a well-worn, well-loved card and a small, folded piece of papers. He struggled again, harder this time.  
  
"Those are _mine_. What gives you the right..."  
  
"Da right?" Trader Moe laughed cruelly. "It's my right. Lets see what we gots here." With great delicacy he unfolded each paper and read them, in a high, demeaning voice.  
  
Kit was furious. "_Don't_" He yelled angrily. "Those are _mine_. You piece of dirt, Baloo's gonna find me, he always does. _Always_, and you'll be so damned sorry-"  
  
Moe stopped for a moment. "So, the little pilot hasn't gotten his license yet, isn't dat a shame? You were on your sunny way, an' just had to get into _mine_"  
  
Kit was angry he could barely see straight. "Those are personal" he said, hating himself the minute he did.  
  
"Don't worry about it, kid" Trader Moe, grinned. Kit felt the first flicker of real fear. "You ain't never gettin' no license. You ain't gettin' nothin', ever again. Trader Moe means what he says. Boys!!"  
  
The goons, mindlessly, released Kit from the chair, but made sure his wrists and ankles were tightly bound and put a gag in his mouth.  
  
"It's time ta say good-bye, _kid_." Kit knew where they were the moment they stepped outside, the salty air gave it away. He struggled in earnest, knowing what was about to happen and feeling an unfamiliar surge of helplessness.  
  
"Says hello to da fishes, pickle-boy." Moe's evil face was the last thing Kit saw before he was tossed unceremoniously into the ocean. He sank like a stone, unable to kick to safety.  
  
He thought he saw flashing lights and booming voices, but after awhile the agony in his lungs prevented him from concentrating on anything else.  
  
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and released the breath he'd been holding, but there wasn't any air to replace it. Water came into his lungs, cold, salty and deadly. He felt a moment of pressing pain before he blacked out.  
  
In the meantime, just outside the warehouse, Trader Moe and his goons were putting up a terrific fight. He hadn't exactly covered his tracks very well, and knew he'd been caught red-handed.  
  
Several non-descript gray vehicles pulled up, followed by police car after police car.  
  
When one pulled up, a large figure, and a slighter one jumped out and ran to where a barricade had been set up.  
  
Several swarthy, suited men who looked like they were all business were pointing guns at Trader Moe, who was shouting insults and threats to anyone who'd listen.  
  
"What's happening? Where is he?! Officer, tell us what's happened!!" Rebecca Cunningham's voice was cracking under her stress. She and her pilot/best friend, Baloo, had just spent an agonizing few hours together at the police station.  
  
He pseudo-son had been kidnapped, and his young friend Ernie, had been shot. It made her completely ill to imagine Kit, hurt or....  
  
Baloo seemed beyond words, his face was pale and he was shaking. It scared Rebecca to see the usually carefree, strong-willed pilot like that.  
  
"They've done something with the boy." One cold voice barked out. "We think they tipped him into the drink."  
  
"Gary!" Another officer snapped, casting a concerned look at the pair.  
  
"They dumped him in the ocean!! Let me through, ya gotta let me through, he'll die, he'll drown!! No! Kit!!" Baloo was struggling against the officers, frantic.  
  
"We've got 'em." A voice crackled over the radio. "No sign of the kid."  
  
The now surrounded crocodile was looking defiantly at the small army of men covering him.  
  
"Ya ain't got no proof. There's no kid here."  
  
"We have several witnesses that saw you shoot one boy, and take the other. It's over Moe." The captain shouted. "Now where is he? Don't make it harder on yourself."  
  
Trader Moe looked like he wasn't going to say anything, but he caught the expressions on Baloo and Rebecca's faces and a truly malevolent look came over him.  
  
"Dead. He's at the bottom of da bay by now. Happy trails."  
  
"You-" Baloo lunged for him and was barely restrained. The captain, luckily, reacted differently, shouting for assistance which was near by.  
  
It took several minutes to gear up, and to Baloo and Rebecca, it was like an eternity. The cold, black waves held no sign of life and the thought that Kit was under them was something neither could handle right now.  
  
"Just hold on, they'll find him. It can't have been too long." The captain said kindly, but with a confidence that didn't reach his eyes.  
  
It took several more breathless minutes before the diver's lights could be seen under the inky water. Then, two broke through carrying something.  
  
Baloo recognized the blue sweater and the tangled, light brown hair. Kit.  
  
The ropes that had held the boy were quickly undone, but his slack face looked gray. He wasn't breathing.  
  
Baloo and Rebecca said nothing, only clasped each other's hands so tightly it hurt and watched.  
  
For a long, long time the teenager just lay there not responding. Baloo, finally breaking, pushed through the group around Kit, though some tried to restrain him.  
  
His guilt, pain, fear was overpowering him. It was his fault. He'd let Kit down again. Today was supposed to have been one of the happiest days of the boy's life. Not the last.  
  
"Kit! Kit, I'm sorry. Don't go, please don't go." Baloo was on his knees, holding the boy's head as the others, giving up, worked around him. His grief was tangible, and Rebecca felt her own heart sinking like a stone.  
  
The large bear sat there, thinking of every time he had done this, hadn't shown up or disregarded something for a few more minutes of relaxation, one more moment of pure selfishness.  
  
He loathed himself. *Was it worth it?!! Was it?*  
  
"Ms. Cunningham." Rebecca didn't turn at the voice. She knew what it would tell her, since Baloo was beyond listening.  
  
But then, Kit's back arched and he began spluttering and hacking up seawater. He gasped and choked for several minutes, as the team around him gave him some oxygen and Baloo sat him up to clear his abused lungs of any excess water.  
  
Weakly, blearly, Kit saw himself come back, coming back to Baloo's heart- rending pleas. It hurt so badly, but he did it anyway. Now, he saw the pilot's face coming into clearer focus through his strained eyes. His dad.  
  
Baloo looked like an old man, kneeling above him. It wrenched Kit to see him like that. He spoke without thinking.  
  
"You're late, Papa Bear. You're too late. You're always, too late." Kit's voice was getting weaker and Baloo looked like someone had just turned the final wrench of the rack.  
  
"Kit? I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."  
  
Kit heard Baloo's voice, but he was so tired that he couldn't focus on it. His weak voice still gasped out, though, "I knew you'd find me. You always, do...."  
  
He was gone, for the third time that day he had fainted away into oblivion. Baloo held onto him for a long time, making no noise and Rebecca quietly got to her knees on the water-splattered dock and put an arm around the pilot's shoulders.  
  
She realized that Baloo was rocking Kit, smoothing back his hair. His face looked truly awful.  
  
"Baloo" She said, her own voice unsteady from the hell they had both just gone through. "He's going to be all right. Ernie too. The boy lost a lot of blood, but he's all right. And Kit will be too, they just need to get him to a hospital."  
  
"I was too late. I let him down. How could I do that to him?" Baloo said dully.  
  
"Oh Baloo, you didn't know, you couldn't have. Here, you have to let them take Kit now, he needs medical help." Rebecca could barely convince the large pilot to release his son, he was nearly feral about it.  
  
Finally, the pair got into the cramped ambulance with Kit, whose color was improving but who was still out cold. They said nothing, both holding onto Kit's hands. They were shell-shocked, the image of Kit coming so close, again and again and again, too vivid this time to just slide by.  
  
Kit woke up right as the ambulance pulled up to the hospital. He only saw the bright lights, heard the reassuring voices but it didn't help his confusion and hurt. Emotions that he couldn't understand were overwhelming, the awfulness of what had happened today finally sinking in.  
  
A woman's voice, one he recognized very well, spoke to him quietly and he relaxed under its soft, loving tone. "Honey, you need to relax, you've had a close call. Your friend is fine, he's going to be just fine. Ernie just lost some blood, but you probably saved his life. We're so proud of you."  
  
Someone lightly kissed his cheek and Kit felt the caring in the voice, he felt it in the two hands that were holding onto his own. He wanted to drift back into peaceful dreams, but his body was acting against him.  
  
"Kit, you need to wake up. No time to be laying about. Kit, Kit!!" The voice was changing, as were the sounds around him.  
  
It wasn't the familiar Cape Suzette tone that he'd heard for a large portion of his life, but a very different, exotic kind of voice. It made him think of late-night fires and tents full of spicy-smelling candles.  
  
It was soft, soothing altogether feminine, full of sweetness and modesty, full-  
  
"Kit!! Get your lazy arse up this moment or else I will skewer you and serve you to the dogs!!"~  
  
Kit jerked awake with a panicky feeling. Standing above him was Anca. She had her hands on her hips and the same hard expression she had worn before.  
  
"You! How do you know my name?"  
  
"How do you know my name?" She mimicked in falsetto. "I have ears jenica, and I use them. Unlike you. Augu says you are to come with us. We will be there in a few days. Come now, or sleep the day away in a field like the timid, little mouse you are."  
  
Kit stood there blinking at her and she kicked at him in frustration, the bangles on her dark legs jingling distractedly.  
  
"Up jenica! I am not your ema, now go before Augu regrets taking you in."  
  
Kit's gaze as he slowly rolled up his blanket and began following her couldn't tear itself away from her voluptuous walk.  
  
He cleared his throat self-consciously and looked down at the ground.  
  
Augu was standing outside of the disintegrating circle, stretching his massive arms and yawning loudly.  
  
"Ah, Anca. He has followed your sweetness as a bee does honey. Ready boy? You travel with us. Now, now, what is such a look?" His reproachful tone did nothing to ease Anca's angry, resentful glance at Kit. "He is not like us, da, but for a time we must all see past such things. We are all refugees, in a way."  
  
"As everyone sees past what I am?" Anca spit out and stomped away, her long, dark hair catching the sunlight and shimmering like a living thing.  
  
Augu sighed and clapped Kit on the back, sending him sprawling. "As I will never find my own son, let us hope that your father will have better success. We go."  
  
Allied Headquarters  
  
Secure Location; Border of Eastern Europa  
  
May 21, 1945  
  
"His name is Baloo. I don't know if he even goes by a last name. His, um, his son that the officer reported? The Thembrian, Dunder? He's on his way east and I wanted to let the other pilot know."  
  
"Our last known report shows him landing in the Falkans, helluva place to chose if'n ya ask me."  
  
It was on the tip of Eric's tongue to state that it wasn't but he held onto the thought as the greenhorn in an over-sized uniform continued.  
  
"It's Falkan policy to have all outside pilots, 'specially those not havin' dog tags and milit'ry standin', send a report to the airbase they reported from. If'n the code matches, they don't shoot the sorry bastard on sight. Helluva place. Don't know where the kid is but I guess it's okay to send one more message. What's it to ya, pops?"  
  
"If the lad's alive, I.I think he'll, he's got a chance if he's in the vicinity of this pilot."  
  
"Tha's a lot of geography to cover. Can't trust Thembrians neither. Stab us all in'e back. You goin' on some tuskers' word? Mighty big risk."  
  
Eric sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes. He was getting too old for this. He was too old for this about twenty years ago.  
  
"Maybe, maybe someone there can put out a word, look for the boy."  
  
Eric's voice was becoming softer. The young soldier, the Thembrian who had delivered the message to anyone looking for the erstwhile navigator, himself..it was apparent to all that this search for an ant in an antpile was coming to an end. A frustrating, call it a draw, end with no success and the running around in circles had worn on the aging racoon's nerves.  
  
He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know where that stupid boy was. The chances of the older pilot finding Kit was slim at best.  
  
Who was he kidding? It always was. The long line of clues was ending. The trail had been lost and Eric knew that he couldn't pick it up again.  
  
His penance had been for nothing.  
  
"Sorry pops. No response from the earlier message. No response from this one. Wherever this pilot is, he ain't payin' us no 'tention anyhow. I say let him look it out. Give 'im closure."  
  
The soldier wasn't so young or naïve after all. There was a difference there, that Eric could see. He wasn't ashamed to be alive.  
  
Eric looked at him and felt..something.  
  
"You all right sir?" the young soldier, a chimpanzee, looked at him cautiously.  
  
"I'm not your superior officer" the older veteran said softly.  
  
"I know that. Um, not ta get personal an' all, but aren't you tired sir? Ain't it time to go home? Tha's all my dad wanted to do, was go 'ome an' start over again."  
  
Eric looked at him and the soldier looked back.  
  
"Did he?"  
  
"Me an' seven other brothers an' sisters ain't testimony to that? He lived, I survived an' I'm going home to give 'im some grandkids."  
  
Home. What was home to Eric? He hadn't had one for so long. He hadn't allowed himself one. It wasn't that he was a drifter, a loner, or even incapable of tolerating other's company, though at several times in his life he'd been all three.  
  
He couldn't live with himself, in the solitude of a civilian life. But..  
  
"I want you to do something for me, soldier."  
  
The younger chimpanzee saluted and Eric handed him a piece of paper with a name on it.  
  
"Just see, y'know. He deserves it. His family does. Tell him, that I said so."  
  
And Eric didn't know who would care or why he felt a sudden rush of emotion. He didn't know that he had liked Kit, he would have liked him twenty years before and he liked him now.  
  
It had to be that if the boy had died for his ideals, it was all right. It couldn't be a waste and it shouldn't be forgotten.  
  
It would never be either for him.  
  
"I think I will be getting' home me lad. You have a sweetheart waiting for you?"  
  
The chimpanzee grinned and nodded.  
  
Eric swallowed the lump in his throat, glad for its presence. "Don't let her leave without knowing that you, um.that your life should be, be with her. Don't leave her behind."  
  
The soldier looked confused but nodded.  
  
"Love her. It'll be all right if you just love her."  
  
His own lesson, given to someone else. His own lesson, learned too late, but learned nonetheless.  
  
"I'm goin' home. Tell 'em that he deserves that." Another nod.  
  
There was only one place that Eric could remember thinking was home for a long, long time.  
  
It was time to go back.  
  
May 1945  
  
Sarajuevo, Falkans  
  
Max was getting sick and tired of waiting around at the air field. Baloo, whose charms Max had openly criticized, had predictably been getting nowhere with both the authorities and any kind of information he could gather.  
  
It was a rotten deal and Max didn't know for how much longer he could take the older pilot coming back with such a downhearted look that it made Max wish he'd never come along on this wild goose-chase.  
  
The people here were about as friendly as a shark in a dentist chair. Not very much.  
  
Max didn't want to blame them. He just wanted to leave. He knew he should be ashamed of himself but he wasn't. The time wasn't right here. It wouldn't be right for a long time.  
  
Whatever can of worms that had been opened elsewhere would keep on squirming here. He didn't know why they had come. Baloo was starting to wonder himself.  
  
That was how Max knew that it was almost over.  
  
He was lost in his own moody thoughts, (doodling Sylvia's name over and over again without realizing it) when a sudden pounding on the cockpit's door startled him.  
  
It was raining. When did it start raining? A dour looking jackal in a gray, weathered uniform was there, heedless of the fact that he was getting soaked.  
  
He had a message in his hands.  
  
Max read it and didn't bother to thank the messenger, who didn't seem to expect it. Some lines had been blurred but it was still readable.  
  
"Well, well. That rotten old goat finally came through." It was a stab in the dark, a clueless assumption, but Kit was coming this way.  
  
And if it's one thing that pilots understand, it's to always come to an airfield no matter the time or situation.  
  
How he could get here or why wasn't important. He'd survived this long, he'd come to the closest area of civilization this side of the Allied line.  
  
When Baloo returned, more blue than grey, Max finally had some good news to give him.  
  
Kit was no longer shocked at the appalling state of the cities he passed. They had arrived in one of the worse ones. Augu had said that there had been many Roma in this country before the war.  
  
It stood to reason, though they were hardly a cosmopolitan people, to meet in a populous area to find more of their own kind.  
  
Still, it shook the nerves to enter a place that was more dead than living.  
  
Kit had tried to steer clear of Anca during the short trip. It hadn't been too difficult.  
  
She seemed to want to have as little to do with him as he did with her. Still, some part of him wondered why, or what was wrong with him.  
  
He knew he couldn't blame her. He had no idea of what she'd been through.  
  
It was perhaps Kit's nature that allowed for the fact that he didn't think of what had happened to him.  
  
He couldn't help thinking of her, though. It was a strange connection, unwelcome but there.  
  
Augu was like a dear old uncle to the young pilot. He was jovial at times, gruff and hard the next, but always straightforward. He didn't mince words. Kit liked that.  
  
It was, therefore, with a heavy heart that Kit surveyed the city beside the huge, dark-furred bear.  
  
"How are you going to find anything in that?" Kit asked, sweeping his hand along the devastated landscape.  
  
"You would be surprised, boy. We have ways."  
  
Neither spoke for a moment.  
  
"I have enjoyed getting to know you, young Kitck. The airfield is not so far away. Best to hurry, before the storm hits."  
  
Indeed, dark clouds were billowing up in the distance and thunder rumbled, for once, not confused with the sound of angry gunfire.  
  
"You see, you did bring lia. You did not even know it."  
  
Augu fixed a dark eye on the brown-haired bear. "Do not think too harshly of Anca. She cannot afford let herself become soft, like you."  
  
Kit was about to protest but was silenced by a wave of a massive hand.  
  
"No insult, boy. It is not a bad thing, to feel. She cannot feel love, it is too dangerous. For Roma, it would be devastating. For you, it is a tragedy."  
  
Kit's head was spinning.  
  
"You are not for her, and the same the other way. Learn each other's lessons. I am asking you, an old man who has known the sweetness of a woman's love. The right woman."  
  
"Thank you, Augu. For everything." Kit felt choked up. He knew that he would never see the group again. More people he cared about that he had to leave behind.  
  
"Do you still doubt that someone is waiting for you?"  
  
Kit thought, his brow creased, than shook his head. Whatever doubt was gone. It was eerie.  
  
"You should have been a Seer, boy. With us. Or no, maybe it is not an unknown magic, but something older than time. Those bonds, of love and family, they do not end with distance or death."  
  
A large hand pulled the boy closer and he squeezed the life out of Kit, who could barely return the embrace.  
  
"Remain as you are, Luminite. Do not change. You are, good. I will remember you boy. Remember what you have seen here, but do not dwell."  
  
Then, they were gone. Anca was at the rear, her long, beautiful hair swinging behind her. She turned to look at Kit. There was something in her smoldering gaze.  
  
He looked back. She stopped and the distance between them never seem so far, or so nonexistent.  
  
His bruised soul, her empty heart. Maybe, in another time that didn't know war, or want, or hatred, but not here.  
  
There was a distant whisper of what could have been, then she was gone. Kit would remember her for the rest of his life just like that. The sun in her hair, those eyes that laid him bare.  
  
He never asked if he could have loved her. It didn't matter anyway.  
  
Kit walked towards the airfield, knowing his journey was at an end. He didn't know if he was better, or worse for it, but he knew that he could never go back to who he was before.  
  
Some small part of him wanted to turn back, run far away from what was happening in a world gone crazy. He didn't want Ms. Cunningham or Baloo to see him and be saddened, or uncomfortable with what they saw.  
  
He should have known better.  
  
The airfield had few planes on it. There was one that he would have recognized anywhere.  
  
The sun was setting and Kit could see two figures in the cockpit of the Sea Duck.  
  
He walked slowly and time almost came to a stop. He recognized both of them and they both stopped and gaped at him.  
  
The door opened and a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.  
  
Father and son, navigator and pilot, friends, allies, through pain and loss and heartache. Every thought, every emotion that they had shared, had learned from together was in the moment.  
  
Nothing was said. It could even be anticlimactic. But it was over and they had found each other. In the end, all it had taken was faith.  
  
Baloo and Kit embraced and Max turned away, not wanting to intrude. Both were weeping uncontrollably.  
  
They just held each other, saying each other's names. The sun set and they couldn't let each other go.  
  
Finally, finally when they separated, Baloo turned his face away for a moment, lost in his own moment of thankfulness for his son.  
  
Max cleared his throat for a minute and Kit shook his hand distractedly.  
  
"It's, it's good to see you, Cloudkicker. We got a message saying you would be coming through this way. Been awhile, hasn't it."  
  
"It has Max" Kit looked so much older. He was leaner, his face had more lines and his uniform was ragged beyond repair. "Thank you for helping him."  
  
They both looked toward Baloo.  
  
"You're welcome." Max said quietly. Which was all that was needed for him. He was ready to leave it all behind as well.  
  
As Max was climbing back into the SeaDuck, Kit gently placed a hand on Baloo's back. Baloo turned and looked at him, wiping tears off of his face.  
  
They embraced again and Kit found himself comforting the older pilot. Which was always how it had been with them. Kit being the stronger one, Baloo's anchor, his reminder that life could be more than what it appeared to be.  
  
But Baloo had given Kit what no one else could. Something that words can't explain. He had made Kit into the individual that he was. For so many, that was something beyond price.  
  
"I love you so much Papa Bear. I knew you would be here."  
  
"I knew you would get here, L'il Britches. Somehow, you would. I love you more than I can ever tell you. You're my reason for living. You're my family Kit-boy."  
  
After the last embrace, after the Sea Duck had taken off again, Baloo realized something. For the first time since he had met Kit Cloudkicker, this had been the first time that he had pulled away before the young erstwhile navigator.  
  
He had found him. Now, he could let him go.  
  
May 1945  
  
Louvais, City of Love  
  
"Molly, honey, do you really think it was necessary to bring every belonging you've ever owned?"  
  
An annoyed and out-of-breath Rebecca pulled fruitlessly on one of the many straps connected to the boxes and boxes of luggage  
  
Molly, suspiciously luggage-free was looking around the crowded sidewalk outside of their hotel with a face full of youthful excitement.  
  
Rebecca was almost ready to forgive the circumstances of why they were there, as well as the obviously unsupervised over-packing that her daughter had done, just to see that long-forgotten expression on the girl's face.  
  
Almost.  
  
"Would you mind taking some of these, since they are mostly yours, dear?" Rebecca's strained voice could be heard from the mounds of baggage surrounding her.  
  
Molly eyed her coolly and snapped her fingers. In moments the bags were gone, loaded and a frazzled Rebecca could only watch in astonishment.  
  
Trying to smooth her hair back into its neat coif, Rebecca gaped at her daughter. "What was that all about? Is there something you should be telling me?"  
  
Molly just shook her head. She looked quite lovely, wearing a smart blue outfit complete with a bowl-like hat that just showed off her blue eyes when she tipped it up. It was, perhaps, a little too chic for a girl Molly's age but they were here, in the heart of fashion and although it would take a long time, even from the Uslanders' inexperienced view, to rebuild, the city's true nature couldn't be buried.  
  
What was alarming to Rebecca, however, was the looks that her daughter was getting from men much, much too old to be gaping like that.  
  
She couldn't glare at each of them.  
  
"Um, Mom?" Molly was looking at her mom studiously. "How about ditching that old-fashioned hairstyle? And what's with the cardigan? You can loosen up a bit, c'mon! Since we're here and we've already filed the paperwork, let's have some fun."  
  
Rebecca shrugged. She couldn't quite explain it to Molly, but she really wasn't in the mood to 'loosen up' as her daughter put it. It was an odd feeling. She, well, she didn't want to get all dressed up when there wasn't anyone to appreciate it.  
  
She told herself that she was here to find Baloo Don't think of Kit, not yet, it's too soon, it hurts too much still, and then to go home. She wanted Molly to remember that she was still young and to have fun, within reason, but she herself felt lonely. She hadn't felt lonely like this for a long time. After Stephen died, before her heart had healed.  
  
"Mom?" Molly didn't look young now. Her face was sad, at odds with the bright gaiety surrounding them. "They'd want you to enjoy yourself. They said that contacting Baloo would take some time. Let's, um, relax. Is that all right?"  
  
Rebecca knew what she was really asking. 'We're not forgetting about Kit, or Baloo, if we have a bit of fun? They would want us to, right? Our hearts are still with them, isn't that true?'  
  
Yes, yes it was.  
  
Rebecca sighed and threw her hands up in surrender. "Consider me made- over. Where do you want to go?"  
  
Two hours later Rebecca was very Very sorry that she had allowed Molly to talk her into this.  
  
She was scowling at a reflection of herself in a huge, gaudy, Sun King style mirror with a wafer thin weasel pulling and twinging, tut-tutting her hair.  
  
Now it was pulled up in a ghastly pompadour that looked as though it would snap her neck from the weight.  
  
She had banished Molly to the marbled waiting room, letting her daughter gape at the richness surrounding them. Rebecca was just a little troubled as to how it had survived and tried not to think too much about who had sat in this chair not so long before she had.  
  
"Hmm, no, no, Madam, your face, your erm, body, or what you can call such, zis is no good. I try again, avec! Francois iz here to serve you, in spite of yourself. Uslander, pah! Atrocious sense, oui?"  
  
Rebecca tried to mutter a feeble protest but she was being strangled by her own hair. Within minutes it was up in a bride of Frankenstein look, just shy of two matching white stripes.  
  
"Takes ze years from ze face, oui?"  
  
"NO!" Rebecca shouted, digging her hands into her hair frantically. "Just, fix it plain. Nothing Fancy. NOTHING!" She shouted in the oily weasel's face.  
  
"I vas only trying to help. Zome people and zeir fashion needs."  
  
He tried again.  
  
Molly, in the meantime, was trying to get a glimpse of her mother's progress from the exquisitely uncomfortable chair she was squirming in. If the shouts, broken glass and occasional girly scream (Not her mom's, yeeech) were anything to go by, she needed to um, observe, with a detached sense of austerity. Sure.  
  
She barely noticed the cologne drenched youth who sat one chair away, eyed her up and down, then stood up, adjusting his collar, smoothing his greased down coif and sitting closer.  
  
He grinned a thousand watt smile at her and winked. She started coughing from lack of oxygen. The smile quickly faded.  
  
"Vat is a pretty zing like you here? Vaiting for boyfriend?" He leaned closer, leering, "Lover?"  
  
That got Molly's attention. She gaped at him unbelievably. "Zen wait no more. You are like the sunshine zat gives flowers life. No, zis is not true, you are the sunshine and ze flowers. No, ze sunshine, ze flowers and ze sky above. Still no, mademoiselle, let me continue.."  
  
Molly rolled her eyes and tried to bury herself in a magazine. It didn't help that she didn't speak or read French, or that the magazine was upside down.  
  
"I have money, leftover from the Occupation. My fazer is very rich, he, um, helped those in our country, no matter who zey are."  
  
Molly gasped but he took no notice. "We have a nice, new home. Zose who owned it before, were, how you say? Disposed of, se moi? No matter, ze had no need of such zings were zey were going."  
  
Molly felt her hand twitch and tried with all of her might to resist the urge to smack this oily little upstart's smug face.  
  
"You could join me zere." He went to put a hand on Molly's leg and she tried to push it off but he was stronger than he looked. She was about to call for help when another voice, still young and accented but hard as nails, was heard from the other side of her.  
  
"I vould be letting her go, Bernard. You cannot find any decent women here, you have to find children. You are disgusting, oui?"  
  
Bernard flushed beet-red and took his hand off of Molly's leg quickly. Molly turned to look at the newcomer.  
  
He looked about Bernard's age, and the similarities most definitely ended there. He had on a battered, old cap and a gray trenchcoat. His facial fur was clipped into a funny little goatee and he kept fingering his pockets like there was something in there he wanted to hold onto.  
  
He wasn't technically handsome, but there was an aura around him that Molly had never encountered before.  
  
"You should leave here you tusker sympazizer! Izn't zis place, erm, too rich for your thinned blood?"  
  
"I go where I please. I vanted to see how the ozer side lives. You make me ill, zere are starving ones just outside ze door and you lay about in wasteful capitalism. Soon you vill see how follied you all are."  
  
Molly felt a wave of guilt from the impassioned speech. She looked down at her fine clothes and, unbidden, an image of Kit came to her mind. It was something she had only thought of once or twice. The thought of Kit hurt or hungry wasn't something she liked to dwell on.  
  
But she knew that there must have been a time in his life where he was alone, bedraggled and struggling to survive.  
  
She stood up a little straighter in her chair.  
  
Bernard was twitching with rage, his thin hands clenching and unclenching.  
  
"I vas not meaning you, pretty one. Forgive, mademoiselle. It is just zat parasites such as him need to taught a lesson. Zey welcomed ze enemy in with ze welcome arms. Worse than scum, traitors to our nation!"  
  
Molly felt overawed by the fiery young man. She leaned back and that was all the encouragement Bernard needed.  
  
"Zere, you see! She does not vant anyzing to do with a gutter rat like you. Pah! Go back to your pamphlets and meetings. Zey do not mean anything."  
  
The other boy, Molly wished she knew his name, stood up. Bernard did the same but kept looking towards the door.  
  
"You zink so? Our brothers, our allies are coming. When they arrive, ze people will rise up and overthrow such bureaucratic blood-suckers as you and your father. Zen our utopia will have begun!!"  
  
"Antoine, you have alvays been mad, but the years of fighing have unhinged you. Leave us, I saw her first."  
  
Molly bristled furiously.  
  
"Excuse me!! I think..."  
  
"At least I did fight you cowardly bastard. I vould challenge you to a duel if I vanted to sully my hands in such a vay."  
  
"Hey, I was trying to say something here..."  
  
"We vill see who is better, you socialist maker of trouble!"  
  
"Uppity snob!"  
  
"Filzy revolutionary!!"  
  
"Weak-minded fool!!"  
  
"You!!"  
  
"No, you, Monsieur!!"  
  
"HEY!!" But Molly was now just part of the scenery. The two boys began duking it out and destroying everything in their path which Molly was desperately trying to stay out of.  
  
"Now, now, NOW!!" A much deeper voice was heard and Molly looked up from underneath her hat, which had slipped over her eyes in the hubbub.  
  
Rebecca and her minute stylist were outside gaping at the mess. A large, extremely handsome and polished man was holding the two boys apart and shaking them like wet towels.  
  
"How dare you fight in front of a lady! You are not worzy to be called our countrymen! Get out!!"  
  
"Mademoiselle, can I." Bernard started but Antoine had already grabbed by the front of his immaculate collar and hauled him outside.  
  
The older gentleman, a very good-looking panther, was looking at Rebecca with undisguised admiration. Molly was open-mouthed.  
  
Her hair was down from it's usual up-do. It hung in long, chestnut curls down her back, bringing out the rich color of her eyes. She looked years younger and very lovely.  
  
Molly almost didn't recognize her. "Mom?"  
  
"Molly! What on earth were you doing with those two ruffians. Thank you, erm, Mr."  
  
Rebecca blushed as the panther took her hand and kissed it expertly.  
  
"Foucalt. You may call me Foucalt. I must say ze way zat you butcher our language is quite, charming."  
  
The smile slipped a little from Rebecca's face.  
  
"Are you here alone? With this pretty girl? Surely she cannot be your daughter? But, oui, it must be, such loveliness can only come from ze mother."  
  
Molly wondered if she should feel swept off of her feet by the corny speech. Rebecca looked even less impressed. Which was surprising. Usually in the face of such debonair and polished men, her mother lost all touch with reality.  
  
But Rebecca not only looked rebuffed but completely uninterested.  
  
"May I escort you back, to, erm, a hotel room?" The look in his eyes hid nothing and Rebecca stepped back.  
  
"No thank you" She said firmly, surprised at herself. What was wrong with her? Here was this incredibly handsome, obviously wealthy man interested in her and she was acting like he was a bug in her path!  
  
She felt very confused all of a sudden.  
  
What was it? Something about his smile (too big) his clothes (too polished, especially in a city just recovering from war) even his hair (too well done, probably toupee) that got on her nerves.  
  
He was wanting. In every way, in her eyes, he was lacking. She wasn't impressed and wondered at it.  
  
Not to mention the fact that he was persistent.  
  
"Oh, come now. You would not want me to zink zat.."  
  
"Foucie!! Vere are you peaches? You promised zat you would help me! FOUCIE!!"  
  
'Foucie' winced, along with Rebecca and Molly as a large, red-cheeked woman in a checkered dress that was several sizes too small came barreling out of one of the salons.  
  
"Zere you are snookums. Pepe said zat we cannot be late to dinner. Or else you will not be getting anozer franc from him, oui? Who is zis, Foucie?" The woman was looking at Rebecca suspiciously.  
  
Smothering her laughter, Rebecca pushed Molly's hat down to cover her daughter's large grin. "We were just leaving. You husband was asking where you were."  
  
As she left she could hear 'Foucie's' frantic explanation as to what he'd been doing and why, etc., etc.  
  
Maybe first impressions weren't always right, but sometimes they were spot on.  
  
Later that night  
  
Rebecca was lost in her own thoughts. For a long time, she couldn't think about her Captain, or his promise to her.  
  
She couldn't really remember his face, even though his voice was still very clear. He really was a ghost, just a phantom in her fantasies.  
  
It wasn't enough anymore. It had been sweet, fleeting but brief and she had always known it had to be.  
  
Someone else had been there, to show her and to help her. But it was so silly to think of him. Even though she often did, more so than anyone else in her life.  
  
He was nothing of what she wanted, everything about him made her want to scream in frustration.  
  
Well, not everything. The way he acted around Kit and Molly was incredibly sweet and he could be very considerate at times.  
  
It could be worse. He wasn't cruel or hurtful. There wasn't a spiteful bone in his body. He was careless and irresponsible and sometimes it hurt others but he never did it on purpose. It didn't make it right, but she couldn't see how it made him wrong either.  
  
Rebecca wanted to go for a walk. Molly, after much begging and cajoling (especially after what had happened this afternoon) had gone to explore their hotel.  
  
There was still no word from Baloo. Rebecca felt confused and disheartened. She picked up a shawl, since the spring night was still cool and started downstairs.  
  
The sky was clear and thousands of twinkling stars shone down on her, like old friends. The streets were quiet, most people wanted to stay home and rebuild, if they were lucky enough to have a home to go to.  
  
She wished Baloo were here with her. He could make her forget her serious thoughts, make her smile and laugh in spite of herself, at least he used to.  
  
She wasn't paying attention to where she was going and accidentally bumped into someone who was walking the other way.  
  
Expecting to be cussed out in a foreign language, Rebecca winced, but instead heard a polite, older voice inquire gently.  
  
"Are you hurt, ma'am?" An aging raccoon was there, more gray than black in a lot of his fur.  
  
His uniform was a little worn but still clean like only the other generation of veterans could get it. The accent was crisp and polished as only an Anglian one could be.  
  
"No! I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."  
  
"It's quite all right, there's no 'arm done."  
  
Rebecca started. His voice, there was something about his that was...familiar.  
  
"You!" She gasped, stunned. "Oh my god, it's you! What.what are you." Eric stared at her, confused. He hadn't the slightest idea of who this woman was.  
  
"I have never seen you before in my life, my good woman. You must be mistaken, my name is-"  
  
"Eric Baggett! I knew it, you." Rebecca looked tense, sad and angry all at once. "You're Kit's superior officer. I spoke to you, once before..."  
  
Now it was Eric's turn to look stunned. He just stared at Rebecca for a moment.  
  
"You are Rebecca Cunningham." Eric said in a flat voice. Of all places, of all times. He would never cease to be amazed at how fate worked her wily ways.  
  
Rebecca didn't ask how he had remembered her name. She felt numb, past pain and fear.  
  
They just watched each other in stony silence. There seemed to be nothing that they could say to each other, but there was so much that needed to be said.  
  
Eric broke first. "Is he.I mean, have you..?" He stopped. "I am sorry."  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Your, husband?" Rebecca didn't correct him, "has gone to find him. He will, and soon, I know it."  
  
"I know"  
  
"He's alive, he's 'eading in the right direction and they are going to find each other."  
  
"I know that too."  
  
Silence again.  
  
"He trust you." Rebecca hated that her voice was unsteady. "_We_ trusted you with our son's life."  
  
"You didn't even know me."  
  
"No, we didn't, and you being sorry doesn't make anything any better." It was funny how Rebecca felt worse, not better after saying that.  
  
"Do you need closure, Mr. Baggett? For what happened or what you did?"  
  
"No" Eric was fighting something, it was obvious. He was trying not to fall back into himself like he had for such a long time. He found that he didn't want to be hard and stoic to this woman and he didn't know why.  
  
The fight ended and his expression softened, looking at Rebecca who was so very lovely in the lamplight, the beauty of a spring night personified, refreshing and peaceful.  
  
"I will never 'ave closure. I accepted that a long time ago. I didn't force Kit to do anything. Look inside of yourself ma'am, you know that there wasn't any other way. He did what he did for himself. In the end, I was just a pawn, a 'alf-decent antagonist to the knight in shining armor. Every story needs one. Just don't blame me for my position, I'll do that myself."  
  
He turned away.  
  
"Where are you going?" Rebecca called after him, her emotions in a whirl. "What gives you the right to assume anything?!!"  
  
But when he looked back at her, his eyes saw right through her and she knew he was right. He was right about everything and she'd known it from the start.  
  
"To answer your question with one of my own, why do you care where I go?"  
  
"I don't" Rebecca said, puzzled that she'd asked at all.  
  
"I'm turning myself in, ma'am. A slap on the wrist for an old-timey veteran like meself. I've paid my dues an' then some in the trenches. They'll strip me of my medals that I never wanted in the first place and then move on. Anglia, Rebecca, is where I'm going. To collect me things and then return 'ere. I 'ave some property here. I should 'ave died here twenty years ago. It's where we all end up, those like me, sooner or later. It's a shame this is where we've all met, Rebecca Cunningham."  
  
"Things should 'ave been different. We should 'ave been different. Friends and family mean something else I know but, for what it's worth, I'm glad just for this moment."  
  
He looked at her appreciatively, a ghost of what might have been haunting the lamp-lit street.  
  
Rebecca's clean, strong features and the corners of his heart where few things ever visited anymore all came together. Then it was gone.  
  
"Go home ma'am. It's not too late. They're both coming."  
  
But as Rebecca turned to go, she heard a soft "Wait".  
  
Eric pulled out a handkerchief and opened it slowly. The object inside glinted like a bauble.  
  
Rebecca recognized it immediately. Kit's compass, a little worn but polished until it shown like new. Before Eric handed her the precious object, however, he reached inside of his jacket lapel and pulled out a silver disk.  
  
Rebecca recognized this also, though she hadn't seen one in years.  
  
"I asked for Kit to receive something, anything for his pains. He should have this, also. I'll lose it anyway. Give it to him."  
  
"To remind him."  
  
Eric held her soft hand for a minute longer than was necessary then walked away, disappearing into the night's shadows.  
  
Rebecca looked at the bundle he'd placed in her palm and wondered why she felt pity, sadness and the urge to go after him.  
  
The emotion passed in a blink of an eye and she felt a heady relief in its place.  
  
She wanted to go back to see her daughter, to wrap her arms around the son of her heart if not her body. She wanted to see Baloo and find out what he had discovered though all of this, if it was anything like the changes that had enveloped her.  
  
She didn't walk, but ran. Rather undignified for a middle-aged businesslady with a teenage daughter but she didn't give a hoot.  
  
The hotel's doorman looked alarmed as she plowed through the revolving door and looked after her shaking his head at those crazy Uslanders.  
  
Up the stairs (Damn elevator was too slow!) and down the hall. Rebecca only back to herself when she saw that the door to hers' and Molly's room was ajar.  
  
Reality came crashing in and a thousand horrifying ideas jumped to the front of her mind. Heart pounding against her ribs, she edged the door open and was momentarily blinded by the lights turned on inside.  
  
Like a scene played out in slow motion, three figures in the room turned towards her and her heart filled to the brim with joy.  
  
"Kit" she choked, tears streaming down her face. She held her arms out and the boy, no, a man now. A young, tall, lean one but a man still, fell into her embrace.  
  
He looked so much older, but his face, and the eyes, a clear, thoughtful hazel, were the same.  
  
They were now filled with tears as he held her. Sniffling behind them reassured her that Molly was safe and sound and had been here to meet the prodigal son.  
  
They were a family again.  
  
Rebecca rocked Kit in her arms, smoothing his hair.  
  
"Thank you, thank you, you came back, thank god, thank you." She whispered.  
  
Kit finally pulled back and wiped the tears off of his face. "You look terrific Rebecca." Then he grinned and Rebecca saw the twelve-year old who had opened her heart and given so much to so many.  
  
Then he was gone and the man Kit had grown to be was there instead. But it was all right.  
  
"Mom! Mom!! You just left and I was here and then oh, 'knock, knock' and I opened and 'WOW!!' Kit and Baloo, screamed, then, 'Whomp' heart attack, it was.." Molly was talking so fast that her cheeks were turning red from lack of oxygen.  
  
"Sorry Becky. Guess you didn't get the message that we were coming."  
  
"It was kinda short notice"  
  
"Not that we knew that you'd stepped out"  
  
"But, hey, we're glad that it was such a great surprise!"  
  
Rebecca found it endearing the way that Kit and Baloo were stepping on each other's sentences. She also saw how the large pilot had his hand on Kit's shoulder no matter where the boy moved like he couldn't bear to even slightly break the connection between them.  
  
Molly was still talking but Baloo looked at Rebecca with a strange expression as Kit shook his head ruefully and listened to the petite blonde's ramblings as she blushed and stuttered under his suddenly unfamiliar gaze.  
  
"So, um, what happened to you?" Baloo asked, taking in Rebecca's disheveled appearance. Just as she bristled defensively, he chuckled and winked at her.  
  
"Looking good, boss-lady. I sure did miss those brown eyes."  
  
It was strange but it was like everything they had gone through and become together had brought them.well, closer together.  
  
There was a moment of tension that neither expected or knew how to react to, then it was just Baloo there, her dear friend.  
  
"Oh Baloo" and she threw her arms around his neck. He held her very close and buried his face in her silky hair and she found the closeness very comfortable. It was nice, in his arms, the way she fit so snugly against him. It was almost...perfect.  
  
Rebecca gave in to one of her unsettled emotions and kissed Baloo on the cheek. Baloo looked surprised for a moment then his eyes deepened and he leaned forward...  
  
-Only to be interrupted by a giggle and a throat being self-consciously cleared. Kit and Molly (Rebecca saw with a rush of 'ahhh how sweet, emotion, that they were holding hands) were looking at them.  
  
Kit was politely trying to hide a smile while Molly was grinning like the devil-child she could be, sometimes.  
  
"Shut up and c'mere." Baloo growled.  
  
The four embraced and Rebecca took the opportunity to push Eric's gift into his hand. When they separated, Kit looked down at it with a far-away expression on his face.  
  
"Kit?" Baloo said softly, squeezing his shoulder. He looked at Rebecca but she didn't meet his gaze.  
  
"My compass. Forgotten about this." Kit stared at the medal also, heedless of the silence.  
  
"He wanted you to have it, he said," Rebecca finally looked at Baloo, "that he was sorry."  
  
Kit looked at each of them with a strange little smile, then embraced Baloo fiercely, who held his erstwhile navigator for a long time.  
  
The rest of the night was a blur of laughter, tears and remembering.  
  
The Next Morning  
  
Far outside of Louvais, Max stood at the edge of a cliff that was still marked by shells and gunfire.  
  
There was a makeshift memorial here but he ignored it. He held a single, red flower in his hand and he looked at it for a long time before letting it drift out of his hand.  
  
Catching the breeze and floating away from the cliffs, the poppy was soon just a dot of red in a horizon of blue-gray.  
  
Max watched it go with mixed feelings. "Goodbye little brother." He whispered to the wind before turning to go.  
  
I'm back again in the depot, with a pot of beer in me hand. Hark at them cheering the draft off. Hark at the strains of the band. As I watches a crowd of chaps there, standing around to shout, Somehow the thought comes to me-'it's the same old crowd goes out'.  
  
Out to the slush and muck, son, out to the stink and blood, Where the streams of jolting lorries splash through the greasy mud. Where the lights go up on the skyline and the gas-shells plop and spout 'Hurry, blokes, get your masks on!'-and the same old crowd goes out.  
  
You'll know it's the Push when you see them coming along the road, Wearing the old blue chevrons, humping a nice new load, To pick up another wound stripe where the rats all scuttle about, Or lie on the wire forever. Still, the same old crowd goes out.  
  
Yes pick up another Blighty (under the knee cap for me) Or load about in the billet, chaffing of Gay Paree. Look at that blooming officer finding his way about- Know him? I think we ought to! He's the same old crowd come out.  
  
-Private E. Lowe, 13th Royal Fusiliers  
  
April, 1919  
  
Louvais, revisited  
  
Louvais was a beautiful city. The air at dusk was pink. Eric was surprised to see that it hadn't been a myth.  
  
There were flowers, and small gardens. There were trees, and laughing children, large women walking small dogs and older gentlemen oogling young girls. There were maids beating out rugs, crooked dusty chaps covered in soot and the occasional bobby, though Eric supposed they were called something else here.  
  
There were trolleys and cabs, there were buses and trams. There were shoe- shiners and lads selling papers, there was even the sight of a 'seamstress' on a corner but they didn't stand out in Eric's innocent eyes.  
  
Louvais was a city alive. It was a city that had held its breath through four years of war, and had convinced itself that nothing, nothing was worse than invasion. Now, it didn't even play the part of a victorious capital. It just wanted to live again.  
  
It, along with every inhabitant, every stone and every brick laid down, knew it had been wrong and couldn't face it. There was the knowledge that there were things worse than what had been here for four years, even worse than what had been lost and what still survived to remind them all. And it was coming ever closer.  
  
So, a deep-seeded sadness accompanied the normalcy in the city. Like a play that no one wanted to have a part in, actors tired of their roles, it was an act.  
  
And Eric knew it. It went past the denial of how bad the war could actually be and what those here could take before they were broken. It was a city forced to move on and leave the glittering past behind, forever.  
  
That was always hard.  
  
Eric strode past the streets lined with lamplights. He sat on the iron- wrought benches and watched many, many black-clad inhabitants stroll past. He felt like a pioneer. He was standing on the edge of something important, he had seen the world change and he felt like he was alone in the knowledge that it could never return to what had been.  
  
It was now that Eric developed a great love for the city of Louvais. He picked out a place, quiet and secluded on the outskirts. Past the river and the towering buildings, past the opera house, the museums, the monuments. He chose a small place near a church, and a cemetary.  
  
Over half of the graves were fresh, with 1916 ending the dates on all of them. A small sign in the native language stood newly painted by the graves. 'To Our Beloved Boys' was all it read.  
  
Someday Eric would come back here. When all of the madness and hate, the rage, frustration and endless bloodshed had erupted and calmed again.  
  
As the peace talks went on and Eric walked through the city streets, many glanced his way and then kept walking with a puzzled expression. The war was over, the soldiers departing, but they couldn't forget.  
  
Most of them knew, that they shouldn't forget.  
  
As Eric was preparing to leave, he stood in the train station and listened to people debating on how the peace was being prepared. A wave of dread passed over him, followed by deep apprehension and then it was over. For twenty years he looked for peace......and he would never find it.  
  
Eric Baggett was as lost as those who never saw 1919 in his generation. War would forever mark his life, his past and his future. He, and the world that he lived in, was changed forever.  
  
A young girl, handing out flowers at the station, impulsively tucked a rose into Eric's pocket and then kissed his cheek.  
  
Eric, so young and strong and uncertain of how to go on, looked at her. And he smiled.  
  
"Merci" She whispered, squeezing his hand.  
  
Eric just nodded.  
  
To everyone who had so much patience and whose encouragement meant so much. You know who you are. Thank you.  
  
(Don't worry, or do worry, whatever, Epilogues are something Aly likes!!) 


	6. Epilogue

Sphere of Influence  
  
Epilogue  
  
Disclaimer; Nothing is Mine, all is Disney's. Hopefully they've figured this out by now. I take no money, no credit and no responsibility for the behavior of their characters. That is all.  
  
AN; Thank you to Greg, Alissa and everyone else whose support has been phenomenal. Thank you so much.  
  
December 14, 1947  
  
Louie's Christmas lights seemed to get better, more extravagant, every year. Now, the palm trees sparkled and the bustling laughter of a holiday party (like they needed an excuse) was in full swing.  
  
There had been additions to the Cape Suzette group. Two reddish-blonde toddling orangutans were crawling over the walls, tiki masks, etc., pursued by a good-natured by harassed Waldo.  
  
Bess and Louie were both crooning a bluesy carol, their arms around each other. Wildcat was tinkering, as usual, in a corner, blissfully content to stay the way he was, the most permanent fixture in the group.  
  
There was also a serious young bear cub who had been invited, and who only had eyes for Molly. That young bearess, now a full-fledged teenager, was prettier than ever.  
  
She just giggled at her friend's behavior, enjoying the attention, still too young for a serious relationship from one date. She was, however, still a little bit hopeful of something, though it was more of a crush than anything else.  
  
The years were changing her and the young pilot she'd loved for so long. She didn't know where they would end up but their friendship would always be strong.  
  
Maybe he would always be the babysitter who fed peppered ice cream to a squid and clunked his head on household furniture.  
  
Still, she had more sympathy for her mom's dilemma.  
  
Rebecca had aged gracefully, Baloo...less so. But they were still themselves, still parents for their children.  
  
They had built a life together, it was just that last step that was so hard to take.  
  
Postcards from Europa, Louvais, even a solitary one from Anglia hung on Louie's wall, a reminder of the war they'd all lived through and the threat that was always present, as though they needed to be reminded of it.  
  
Rebecca and Baloo were holding hands, reading the latest letter from Kit Cloudkicker. Kit had been an inspirational pilot for those working to bring relief to a blocked off city.  
  
He had had the courage to return to that terrible place. This time he knew it was for the best and no matter how it ended, he could face it. So could Rebecca and Baloo. They had to let him go, again, to face that danger all over again.  
  
It was Kit's way, to want to help others and they never, ever wanted to change him.  
  
Cape Suzette was a city prospering, no longer living in the shadow of conflict and poverty. Decades of struggle had molded it as well.  
  
Thousands of miles away, as Kit landed safely and his shift ended far from Thembrian controlled territory, he held a vigil. He lit one candle, representing past, present and future. He thought of home but also of others, of a girl he'd lost, one he'd never found after the carnage had ended and one that was waiting for him. He clutched his old air-foil, still cherished after all of these years and remembered.  
  
Another fly-boy, nearly done with life's troubles, did the same that night, lighting his own candle to his life. It lasted the night. Now, finally, was his time to let go.  
  
The Beginning  
  
Kit tossed and turned in his bunk on board the Sea Duck. His emotions were as turbulent as the ocean beneath him. He knew he had to leave soon, that he didn't have a place here with these people.  
  
He was Kit, ex-pirate, vagabond, trouble-maker. There were few constants in his life and a roof over his head wasn't one of them. He tapped his scuffed airfoil underneath his sweater, there was one, and the other was his dream of flying. That was all.  
  
But, for tonight, he could dream and it was very sweet. That businesslady was nice, and she sang well, even if she was a bit uptight and bossy.  
  
He wondered what it was like for a mother to sing you a lullaby like that every night, to sing it just for you.  
  
He wondered if a father, a real one, would have acted like Baloo had when Karnage had held him prisoner in that jungle.  
  
He'd acted like he cared. He had even sacrificed his beloved plane for him. Kit squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the waves of pain inside his heart.  
  
He hadn't asked Baloo to do that, he still didn't understand why he had.  
  
Kit listened to the pilot's soft snores underneath him and wondered what Baloo saw in him that had made him, like, him at all.  
  
Kit finally fell into an uneasy sleep.  
  
Unfortunately, it was short-lived as he was rudely awakened by the rough seas outside. It must have been very late, or very early, since the only sound was the harbor bell and a mild storm outside.  
  
He tried to disentangle himself from his covers and lost his balance, yelping once as he fell. Before he could even draw another breath, however, an arm shot out and grabbed him.  
  
Kit let his instincts take over, kicking and fighting whoever had him before a familiar voice broke through his panicked haze.  
  
"Ea-sy kiddo, that was some tumble. You're safe now. You're safe, I've got ya."  
  
Kit blinked and quickly pushed Baloo away angrily. He didn't look at the large bear when he grumpily climbed into his bunk again.  
  
He heard a weary sigh and told himself that he didn't care, that he didn't need anyone and it was better that the pilot found out about him now rather than later.  
  
He didn't fall back asleep that night.  
  
In the bunk underneath him, Baloo was wondering at himself and that odd kid who he already felt way too attached to. It was ridiculous, someone like him and a kid like that.  
  
But, in his heart, he knew that the boy needed someone, and..maybe he needed Kit too. Yet, the boy wasn't ready. No matter, he could wait.  
  
"Goodnight, L'il Britches." He said to the darkness. Before he drifted off, he heard a soft, "Goodnight..Papa Bear."  
  
Fin 


End file.
